Control
by UsuakariTOT
Summary: For Touzouko it was always about control, control that he did not have. Yet suddenly, thrust into the modern world, it is he who now has power. But how will he use it? What happens when you face madness and find your own completion? TKB.YM.YB
1. Temptation

**A/N:** I kind of consider this my experiment fic. It's my first serious attempt (outside of oneshots) to write in first person. Also I've decided to write in the present tense which is kind of uncommon for chapter fics.

Besides exploring different stylistic methods than I'm used to, I also want to go more in depth into the relationship between the Spirit of the Ring and the Thief King. It's generally accepted that Yami Bakura is one and the same with the Thief King, but after reading the manga I'm not so sure. Though he does talk about the horror of the massacre of Kuru Eruna, YB also claims that he is Zorc (not to mention the whole "I am Darkness" thing from Battle Ship). This and other aspects of the AE arc leads me to believe that the Thief King (Touzouko in this story) is more like Ryou than anything and was possessed by the evil spirit Yami Bakura. As for YB, I believe he is a piece of Zorc sealed within the Ring. I know that in the AE arc Zorc is sealed in the Underworld, but even watching the dub we know the Ring allows its owner to store bits of themselves within other objects. Perhaps that is what he did to ensure his resurrection.

Wow, that was a really long and confusing explanation. I could go on with more examples that support my theory, but that would take several pages and no doubt be incredibly boring. Anyway, regardless of whether or not you think my crackpot ideas are plausible, I do hope that you as readers will enjoy my story and tell me what you think. Here we go!

**Disclaimer:** Kazuki Takahashi's, not mine.

**Warning: sex, dirty language, and violence; rated Mature**

**Chapter 1-Temptation**

* * *

In the three-thousand plus years since I was sealed within the Sennen Ring, few things have ever surprised me. The Darkness of Malik Ishtar is one of them. I often think of that duel on Kaiba's airship. Mariku was insane, hopelessly, cluelessly, utterly insane, but he was also smart, and for that even Zorc, or Yami Bakura as they now call him, finds him strangely fascinating.

"Touzouko…"

The object of my curiosity is standing in the doorway. A towel is draped around his waist. His hair is wet and glistening. On slender legs he walks out onto the balcony of our Domino apartment to stand beside me.

"What are you staring at, Touzouko?"

"Where's Bakura?" I answer the blonde's question with one of my own.

Mariku shrugs, but I can tell it's getting to him. The two spirits have been together since our resurrection, and Bakura's absences always leave him on edge. Staring out towards the millions of city lights, I feel a sudden flare of animosity for the creature now known as Yami Bakura. How like him, to use Marik only when needed then neglect him like some trivial plaything. After all, that's what he did to Ryou, and yes, even to myself. But that was back when he had power, back when even the devils bowed before him and he was known by all as Zorc the Dark One.

However without shadow powers that remnant of Zorc's soul, the remnant that kept me company in the Ring for all those centuries, is no different from any mortal. Yet there is still a darkness to him, just as there is still a darkness to Mariku. Perhaps that is what attracted them in the first place, the knowledge that neither will ever be quite human.

Sighing, the blonde leans against the railing. "I hate this place," he murmurs, glaring down into the urban jungle beneath us. "I really hate it."

"Why? It's certainly step up from the Shadow Realm."

He laughs, a sound that causes me to visibly grimace. I can't help it. Marik's just so dark, so unfeeling… It's as if it's _wrong_ for him to laugh. Like he shouldn't be allowed. But what am I saying? It isn't Mariku's fault. He can't help being what he is anymore than I can help being both intrigued and repelled by it.

The blonde has stopped laughing, and I chance a look at him. He must have seen me flinch because he is suddenly very cold. He stands there stiffly, face immobile, his eyes like two black holes reflecting nothing but a lifeless abyss. It's strange how someone so malicious and cruel can be so easily wounded.

"Ishtar…"

He doesn't reply but backs away, eyes still vacant, until he reaches the open doorway. Then he does something strange. Before he goes he smiles at me, and I am at once struck with how darkly beautiful the gesture is.

"Goodnight, Touzouko."

The Mariku of today is not the Mariku of Battle City. He is no longer a raving lunatic. Rather, he is a silent one. There is something about him now that is almost tragic, a sort of wistful silence replacing that which was once an all out inferno. Yet somehow this fall from insanity has made him even darker, an eerily maddened apathy that is as frightful as it is alluring.

Bakura has returned. I do not know this because of any palpable evidence like a noise or the flash of white hair. Rather, I sense him on a more subconscious level. Even now, with our own bodies and our own souls, we are bound to one another by a sort of unfathomable attraction. It is strange how little animosity I hold for the creature who destroyed the childhoods of both myself and Ryou. It is true that what he does annoys and often angers me, yet I do not hate him. Bakura is a shadow of myself, a shadow of Ryou, and a shadow of Zorc as well. He doesn't even know what he is anymore. Man? Monster? Spirit? He and Marik are really quite similar. They are both intelligent and insane, frightening and strangely pathetic. Perhaps this is why I am able to endure them.

I can hear them shouting from inside. Their fights are frequent and violent, carrying on long after the neighbors have given up complaining. I don't usually bother getting involved so long as the two don't try to kill each other. After all that's the initial reason Yugi asked me to live with them, to keep their destructive tendencies in check.

"What the hell did you say to Marik? He hasn't been this bitchy in ages."

Bakura is standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame. One hand is on his hip, the other clutching the keys to Ryou's ancient Chevy Lumina. A freshly lit cigarette dangles from his lips, already forgotten.

I shrug. "Where were you? It's past midnight."

Bakura knows me too well. "So that's what it's about, huh?" He laughs. "Shit, that blonde's getting more like a jealous school girl every day!"

Mariku must have heard this because the distinct sound of a glass being shattered echoes through the apartment. The paler yami gives me a smirk that I do not return and walks back down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"Come on, Ishtar! Stop being such a Ra-damned child!"

A slew of Egyptian curses is the blonde's only reply.

* * *

About an hour later I am still on the balcony. It is late, well past midnight. Still, I have a hard time forcing myself to go inside. I already know what I'll find. Marik and Bakura have stopped arguing, and that can mean only one of two things. Either one of them has walked out or they are having sex. I haven't heard the door slam since Bakura returned so it's safe to assume the latter. 

Sighing heavily, I finally reenter our apartment. My bedroom is the third door on the right. It feels quite strange having a room of my own. As a child I always slept with the rest of my family and then, after they were murdered, under the chill of the desert stars. Never before have I had a permanent place that belonged to me alone. But now, in a world of urban wastelands and ridiculously large houses, I am admittedly grateful for it.

The room shared by Marik and Bakura is across from mine. The door is open, and I can see them lying together on the bed. Marik is on top, mass of golden hair cascading down his back in a way that offsets the harshness of his scars. He runs his tongue across the expanse of Bakura's abdomen, causing the paler's hips to jerk impatiently.

"Shit Ishtar! Get on with it!"

The blonde is unfazed. "Stop complaining. You know you like it." He dips a bit lower, brushing his tongue across Bakura's navel. I shouldn't watch. I know I shouldn't watch, but as dark and insane and morbidly heartless as they can sometimes be, no one can deny that the two are beautiful.

"I'm serious, Marik! Just fuck me already!"

For a moment the look of detachment in Mariku's face slips into something more akin to hurt. But only for a moment. Just as quickly it is gone, and he bends down to nip playfully at the tip of Bakura's manhood.

"DAMNIT MARIKU!" The other bucks his hips violently, at the same time grabbing the blonde's hair to keep his head from moving. "Didn't I tell you to stop fooling around?"

Mariku doesn't reply, but chokes as Bakura's cock is rammed inside his throat. His shoulders shudder with each thrust, and I can only imagine the painful burning sensation this must induce. Finally Bakura has proven his point and allows the tanner Darkness to pull free. Marik rubs his throat and coughs, sending a spray of slightly pink saliva across the bed sheets. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For being stubborn." Bakura throws him a dark smirk. "Now come here."

Marik laughs, and it is that same horribly broken laughter that caused me to shudder out on the balcony. How can he find Bakura's stunt funny yet be so offended by a single involuntary grimace? Insanity? Madness? The blonde's depravity goes even deeper, to a point mere words fail to describe.

Yami Bakura's sudden groan pulls me back into reality. Mariku is inside him now. Porcelain clashes with bronze. Strong, heated bodies move together, becoming one. I turn to go. However at the same time Marik tilts his head to flip the bangs from his face. In that instant our eyes meet, and I am at once stunned by the sheer volume of emotion in his gaze. Loneliness, desire, lust, pain. They come together to form a sort of miasma in his violet clouded eyes. Yet what surprises me most is the shame, shame so deep, so all consuming, that everything else is tainted. It is the shame he feels as he gives in to Bakura's commands. Shame when he realizes that, since the very making of his own existence, he has never once held true control.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it? Control. Without control we are nothing. We would fade back into the shadows from which we pulled ourselves. Like the blonde Bakura understands this. That is why, even when dwelling in the throes of passion, he always finds ways to remain the master.

Quietly I slip into my room. It is dark in here, empty, silent. Stripping myself of all clothing I make my way into the adjoining bathroom. Seeing the two spirits together like that, it's…both Mariku and Bakura are in their own ways very attractive. I don't suppose it's because I'm jealous, rather…a shower. That's what I need, a cold shower.

I hiss as frigid water assaults my body. It's freezing, freezing, _freezing_ cold, but it isn't working. I keep seeing them, two pairs of hooded, not quite human eyes clouded with lust. Hot bodies unconcerned about sin or the consequences that come with it. Together they are more beautiful than any angel could ever be. For this and so much more I hate them, yet I can't help but love them also, Marik for the brutal acuity with which he experiences the world, and as for Bakura…well I suppose if you're around someone long enough you can't help but love them, true?

These thoughts clash with the torrents of icy water beating on my skin. Sinking to my knees, I allow my head to drop. _'Control,'_ I try to remind myself, but already my hands are drifting to the hardness between my legs. Hopefully the sound of falling water will muffle my groans.

* * *

I awaken suddenly at 7:30 the following morning. It is midwinter, so the sun is only just beginning to paint the sky with light. At first I do not know what has so abruptly retrieved me from unconsciousness. Then I sense it. Someone is watching me from the doorway. It's Marik. His aura is easily distinguishable from Bakura's. Carefully opening my eyes, I give him a questioning glance.

"Ishtar?"

I laugh. He actually jumped. Clad in nothing but a pair of boxers, he shakes his head distractedly. "I…uh…the coffee maker. How does it work?"

I roll my eyes. Of the three of us I am usually the only one up before eleven. Therefore I am also the only one capable of operating most of the kitchen appliances. "Did you put in a new filter?"

"A what?"

"Never mind." Getting up, I cast about for something to wear. However the only clothing in sight is piled in the laundry hamper, so I wrap a loose bed sheet around my waist instead. The blonde gives me a funny look but says nothing as we make our way into the kitchen. When we reach our destination I look around.

"Damn cat!" A half dead bird is sprawled out on the floor, its rapidly beating wings spewing blood all over the white linoleum. Circe, the fugitive responsible, looks up from her place on the kitchen table and mewls.

"Come on, Touzouko. It's instinct." Walking over to the snow-furred feline, Mariku scoops her into his arms. Of all the creatures in this world, the only one to which he shows genuine affection is that Ra-damned cat. Ryou bought it for him sometime around Easter as part of his 'introduce yamis to responsibility' plan. Bakura predicted she would last about a week. Malik gave her three days at most.

It is now mid January, and Circe is healthier than ever. She tolerates no one but Marik, eats as much as the average hundred pound Great Dane, and has a nasty habit of dragging injured birds and rodents across the kitchen floor. Still, she's the least of my problems. Keeping Bakura and Marik in line has proven much more difficult.

"Touzouko…the coffee?"

I snort. "Fine. But I'm not cleaning up after your fucking pet!"

Setting down the cat, Mariku shrugs and walks over to scoop up the bird. For a moment its broken body rests delicately in his hands. Its body is gray, but the creature's head and chest are a bright scarlet. A sparrow? Or maybe some sort of house finch. Marik also takes a moment to admire its plumage. He seems to like the contrast, drabness erupting into something more fascinating. Then, face devoid of all emotion, he snaps its neck and throws it in the trash.

"It was a pretty bird."

"Yes," I agree. "It was."

This shouldn't bother me. After all, even before Zorc I was no stranger to death. As a child I saw my parents die, and as a man I myself learned to kill. That was how things were back then. Your only options lay at the tip or hilt of a sword. No, I really shouldn't care about the bird, but as usual anything involving Marik affects me differently.

"Wash your hands. I've heard that some birds carry diseases."

"Yeah. Okay." He nods and heads over to the sink. In the meantime I busy myself with the coffee maker. Coffee's another thing about the modern world I like. Leaning against the counter, I take in its heavy aroma.

"Smells good, huh?"

"Yeah." I do not mention why I like the scent of brewing coffee. It reminds me of the sultry desert rain, of that soft, heady lilt that colored my mother's voice.

Grabbing the coffee pot, I fill my mug to the brim. The first sip sends warmth radiating throughout my body. I love it. After knowing the chill of the Shadow Realm for so long, any heat is welcome.

"Fucking Ra, Marik! Where the hell did all that blood come from?" Bakura is standing just inside the doorway, viewing the blood left by the bird with a trace of amusement.

The blonde smirks. "Circe."

"Oh. For a second there I thought Touzouko had finally wigged out and attacked you."

I roll my eyes. "Silly bastard. I'm reserving that for you."

A gleam that is both playful and very dangerous flickers in the paler's eyes. "Then by all means, _reserve_ it. Though after a few go rounds in my bed, you'll probably change your mind."

Suddenly the kitchen is too small, the sheet around my waist no more substantial than air. I know what Bakura wants. He wants to take from me what he took from Marik, and in truth a part of me wants to give it…but no. He has taken everything, _everything_ from me but that, and I refuse to go back to being his pawn.

"Go to hell, Bakura." Hitching the fabric more securely on my hips, I brush past him into the hall. I catch a brief glance of both their faces as I pass. The spirit of the ring looks angry, bemused…determined. I don't like that. Yet as uneasy as his gaze makes me, the blonde's is stranger. There is a look on Mariku's face I've never seen before. Not hatred, most certainly not love. Rather it is something more ordinary, more run of the mill. Is it amusement I see? Admiration? Perhaps not. Perhaps he knows that it's simply a matter of time.

Either way one thing is certain. I have to get out of this house. I'll go to Ryou's. He always complains about being lonely anyway. Discarding the sheet, I dig around in my closet for something to wear. Good thing it's a Saturday. If not Ryou would be at school, and I really would have nowhere to go.

Finding my last pair of clean jeans and a shirt that is only slightly rumpled, I dress and make my way back towards the kitchen. Marik and Bakura are still in there…making out on the table.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? People _eat _off of that!"

The paler of the two gives me a vicious smirk. "Jealous, Touzouko?"

It's not even ten o'clock, and already I've had enough of Bakura's bullshit to last a lifetime. Times like this make me wonder why I even fucking bother, why I was stupid enough to agree to live here, to baby sit a soulless shadow and his mental disorder of a lover. It would be easier if I could hate them. Hatred is easy. It's when you throw love into the mix that things turn ugly. How is it that I can both hate and love them at the same time? It doesn't make sense. I...

I shouldn't complain. After all, I'm here of my own choosing. I could have stayed with Ryou, lived a normal, sane life away from the maddening darkness that has haunted me since childhood…but no. I chose to remain, and even now I can't explain it.

"Where the hell are you going?"

Marik's words lack everything, warmth, life, even emotion. Yet for some reason they calm me, and I am able to respond.

"I'll be at my hikari's."

"Oh."

"See you in a bit, Touzouko."

I exit the apartment quickly, eager to leave behind Bakura's smirk and Mariku's hopelessly vacant eyes.

* * *

"Touzouko! What a surprise!" As usual, Ryou appears happy to see me. He ushers me in quickly, his face, so like and unlike Bakura's, glowing with joy. "It sure has been a while. You look tired. Would you like to sit down? How about something to eat?"

I ruffle his hair gently. "No, I'm not hungry. How's school?"

The boy shrugs. "Oh, it's pretty much been the same old thing. My grades in Physics and Calculus were starting to slip, but I brought them back up, and I…"

As quiet as he can be there are times when Ryou never stops talking. Then again, he probably feels abandoned much of the time, living alone in such a big house. I try to keep him company as much as possible. So do Yugi and his friends, but ever since Malik left my hikari's been rather forlorn.

"So how are they?"

Sitting across from him at the dining room table, I give the boy a quizzical look. "How are who?"

"Marik and Bakura, of course."

"Oh, they're…" I remember the morning's bizarre events. "….they're fine. Things have been pretty quiet."

"No broken bones?"

I smile, though that is in fact a viable concern. "Not lately."

"Well I still think you'd have a lot less trouble if you all got out of that apartment and came and lived with…"

"Ryou, we've talked about this." The harshness of my words causes him to flinch. "We both know how crazy Mariku is, and as for Bakura…well you've seen for yourself what he can do to people. I'm not sure you can handle them."

"I handled Bakura for four years before you got your own bodies, Touzouko! And Marik really isn't that bad now that he can't use shadow magic."

"Yes, but…" What can I say? Ryou's stronger than he looks. In truth he probably would be able to deal with them, but that's just it. He shouldn't have to. It's a couple thousand years too late for me, but he can still escape, live the normal life that he always deserved.

"Touzouko, you need to have more faith in them." He grasps my calloused hands in his own, smaller ones. "They can change. It just takes time."

I remember the bird, how Marik seemed to hesitate before taking its life. Maybe my hikari's right. Maybe they can change. Maybe they can learn to shed their heartlessness and live like everyone else in a structured world. But that's a lot of maybes, and I'm not willing to risk Ryou's health on any of them.

"You stay here, Ry. I can handle everything on my own."

"Oh come on! I…" His sentence fades, leaving nothing but a sad expression on his face. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Touzouko. This isn't ancient Egypt. You're allowed to have friends. Why do you keep isolating yourself?"

"Isolating myself?"

My hikari nods. "I hate seeing you so alone."

_Alone… _Am I lonely? I know Ryou is. He sits by himself in this huge house every day, humming tunelessly and praying for friends to stop by. In his melancholy he is an outsider to Yugi and his companions, yet in his sanity he is an outsider to ourselves. I truly pity my light. I never knew he felt the same towards me.

But he is wrong. I have never been alone. Even after I was orphaned I had Diabound, the silent, angelic monster who guarded me even when my soul became irreversibly entangled in Zorc's. Then, when my guardian was also claimed by Zorc and the ravenous evil of the Sennen Items, there was always Bakura. He was nothing but a small sliver of the greater Darkness, installed in me in case I decided to rebel. And though I hated him I was also grateful. Deceitful whispers were better than the crushing emptiness of desert sands.

"Malik's coming back for a visit."

"He is?"

"Yeah." Ryou grins cheerfully. "He called me last night. It sure will be nice to see him again."

"Yes, of course." Malik has spent the past eight months in Egypt with Rishid and his sister, and I wonder silently what has compelled him to return. The blonde couldn't cope with living in Domino. It was too crowded. He longed for the desert, for its heat and its people and its stark, cloudless sky. Also he wanted to get away from Marik. Malik was absolutely mortified when his yami returned, and his hatred has not diminished with the spirit's apparent reformation. No, Malik will hate him until the end of time, but Mariku, strangely enough, doesn't appear to feel anything at all for his light. Neither sadness nor rage cloud his visage when Malik's name is spoken, and never once has he brought up the subject. For someone born of pure malice this really is bizarre.

"I invited him to stay here. I hope you don't mind."

I shrug. "Why would I care? It's your house."

"Yeah, I guess that's true." Getting up, Ryou goes and stands by the window. "I've really missed him. I mean…it's been so long..."

"Since you had the chance to stare at his ass?" I laugh at the blush of embarrassment that rushes to my hikari's cheeks.

"Th-that's not…"

"Don't deny it. I've _seen_ how you look at him, that stupid smile you get when he gives you a compliment. You can't _deceive _me! I'm your _darkness_, your _tenant_. I know all of your thoughts! I _am_ your…"

Ryou bursts out laughing. Evidently my Bakura impression was a little over the top. Ryou is one of the few people who can get me to act like this. I suppose it is because I can relate to him. We both understand what it is to be controlled by darkness, and we both know the sadness of loss. He is much more intelligent than Yugi and his friends give him credit for, and much less innocent.

He is a keen observer, and his interest in the occult is practically limitless. That is why when the Spell of Resurrection was performed my light was neither surprised nor frightened when two specters instead of one emerged from his soul room.

I still shudder, remembering what it was like to feel the earth beneath my feet after more than three thousand years. Unlike Bakura I was unable to control our host's body. I was simply kept chained away in the farthest reaches of Ryou's mind. It wasn't until Memory World that I was finally released, well not so much released as put to use.

The new world is much grander, more bizarre, and terribly crowded than before, yet I am surprised to find it very much the same. It is just as cruel, just as beautiful, and just as unfathomable as it was then. The human race has done much to alter it, but the soul of the earth is a resilient thing, and even after 3000 years of turmoil the palpitations of its heart are quite the same.

"Touzouko? Touzouko!"

"Yeah?" Once more I leave behind my reflections and force myself to focus on Ryou. He looks kind of worried.

"Are you okay? You were kind of…"

"Spacing out."

He laughs. "Yeah. Anyway, I have to go down to the airport in about an hour to pick up Malik. Want to come?"

"No." I shake my head. "I'd better get going."

"Oh. Alright." Getting up, Ryou walks with me to the door. "Call if you need anything, okay?"

Knowing full well that he says this as much for his benefit as my own, I give my hikari a fleeting smile. "Yeah, okay. Have fun with Malik." Then I am out the door. It is snowing, something I never saw in Egypt, and I pause to watch the flakes descend the brooding sky. It is around two o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm not ready to go home. Maybe I'll take a walk. After all, I'd like some time to myself before I have to go back to dealing with Marik and Bakura.

* * *

I reach home just as the sky is beginning darken. The clouds have cleared, and everything seems drenched in the blue-gray of twilight. Opening the door I am at once struck by how eerily quiet the apartment has become. With Marik and Bakura you can expect many things, but silence is not one of them. Making my way down the shadowed hall I suddenly feel a tingling at the back of my neck.

"Bakura?"

"Hmm…hello Touzouko."

I can sense more than see the dangerous smirk on his face as I turn around. "What do you want?"

Stepping into a patch of moonlight that spills across the carpet, Bakura winks. "We've known each other a long time, Touzouko. What do you think?"

"I think I've had enough of your bullshit. I'm going to bed."

"Oh, don't be like that." Mariku is standing in the doorway of their bedroom. His head is cocked like that of a spaniel, yet the desire in his eyes quickly erases any misguided thoughts of innocence. I shudder. There is something thrilling about the want in those amethyst orbs, something that is becoming harder to quell with each passing second.

"You know you want it."

Facing Mariku was a mistake. I can now feel Bakura's breath against the back of my neck, his pale arms moving to my waist.

"Give in." His voice is dark, rich to the point of intoxicating. "We want you, tomb robber."

My body, too shocked to function, quivers as he presses against me. _'Control,'_ I try to remind myself. _'It's all about control.'_ To escape the darkness that is Yami Bakura, that is Zorc, that is the twisted magnificence of Mariku's gaze. That is my ultimate goal. But Bakura is right also. I want it. I really do.

"St-stop…"

"Touzouko…"

I compel myself to focus on the blonde's face, hoping it will somehow help me keep my sanity. He's coming closer. His perfect lips, kissed silver by the moonlight, are open in a voiceless sigh.

"Mariku! What are you…"

"Shh…" Almost shyly he presses his lips against my own. They are warm and amazingly soft, and though I wish I wouldn't I find myself leaning in to the madman's kiss. Vaguely, I am aware of Bakura's triumphant chuckle behind me, but it doesn't matter. All I can think about is that hot mouth that my tongue has only just begun to explore. Marik is moaning. His nails dig painfully into the flesh of my upper arms. I want to see him trembling beneath me, hear cries that are almost human limping about inside his throat. Then there's what I really want, the warmth of another body pressed tight against my own.

My thoughts must be rather evident because when Bakura speaks his voice is heavy with amusemen. "I told you." He licks my ear, grinding his newly formed erection hard against my ass. "You fucking want it. You always have."

* * *

-TOT 


	2. Lazarus

**Chapter 2-Lazarus**

****

* * *

When I finally break contact with Marik's lips I find myself being pulled hurriedly towards the living room. They give no explanation, simply usher me onward with shoves and impatient kisses. I collapse onto the couch in a daze, dimly aware of Bakura's heavy breathing tickling the back of my neck.

"What…" I sound like a child.

"Shh…" The white haired demon nips at the tense cords along my neck. "Don't you know what day it is?"

I can feel his eyes upon me, bright though there is little light to fill them. "No…I don't."

"It's been a year," he whispers. "A year since our resurrection. I guess you could call it something of an anniversary."

"Anniversary?" I find myself laughing, realizing quite suddenly that Bakura is right. It has been a full year since our return. "Interesting means of celebration."

"Why?" the spirit murmurs. "What a better way to honor it than by finally consummating our 3000 year relationship?"

"What does that make me then, hmm?" Curled up at the other end of the couch, Mariku gives Bakura a malevolent stare.

The paler spirit leans over me to pull him into kiss, mocking in its tenderness. "That makes you the frosting on the cake, my _dear_. The added bonus."

Mariku's face is unreadable, veiled in shadows and practiced apathy. It is impossible to tell if he has been hurt by this, or even if he's reacted at all. Still, something about the carelessness of Bakura's words sends me over the edge. He hasn't changed. It's been 3000 fucking years, and he hasn't changed…but things are different now. Without his dark powers Bakura is no stronger than any mortal. In fact, with a body molded after Ryou's he could even be considered weak. In this moment, my mind clouded with lust and rage, I see something I should have realized ages ago. Nothing of Bakura's original strength remains, save his reputation. Without that he would be truly helpless.

"Touzouko! What the fuck are you…"

Before the paler spirit can finish his sentence, before even I have the chance to fully comprehend what I am doing, I am on top of him. Bakura's struggles are useless. I still have the body of an ancient thief, and physically I am stronger than not only him but Marik as well.

"Happy anniversary, Bakura." My voice slides easily, mimicking the spirit's husky baritone in a way that borders frightening. "I hope you enjoy it."

"T-Touzouko…" I hear it. A faint tremor in his words. For once it is Bakura who is powerless, Bakura who is afraid…and I who have everything…

* * *

I awaken groggy, a strange taste clinging to the back of my throat. I am on the floor, my back against the couch. Something tickles my face, and I realize it is Mariku's hair. The blonde's head is nestled against the crook of my neck. Even in sleep his face is one of great harshness. Staring at the sharp contours of his jaw and cheekbones, the night's events slowly come back to me.

Sex with Bakura was absolutely brutal. Biting, clawing, snarling, we fought each other every step of the way. I had forgotten the true exhilaration found in battle, the deep, guilty satisfaction of forcing your enemy into absolute submission. I shiver. Where is Bakura anyway? Sitting up, I look around. He is sprawled out on the couch, facing away from me. I fight the strange urge to wake him and instead turn back to Marik.

Aside from fucking Bakura, most of the night's events remain a blur. I can recall dimly the sensation of Marik's lips, of his hot, ready body begging to be claimed. I remember being surprised by his eagerness. The blonde has never struck me as someone willingly taken. Even Bakura has trouble taming him in bed.

"Touzou…" Marik opens his eyes ever so slightly. "What the hell…fuck…"

I help him sit up, allowing him to lean against my shoulder. The spirit is exhausted, and I can tell that without support he would probably collapse.

"W-where's…"

"Bakura? He's on the couch."

Nodding, Mariku closes his eyes. For a moment he looks almost frail. He exudes a deep weariness, the kind of fatigue that touches not only the body but the soul as well.

"There's no point trying to wake him. Kura's the hardest fucking sleeper I've ever met."

I nod, silently amused by his use of such a nickname. "I'll be surprised if he wakes up before noon."

Marik looks as if he might laugh but stops himself at the last minute. "That's not what he had in mind for last night. You know that, right?"

I allow my head to slump back against the sofa. "Yes…but you can't deny that he liked it."

"No," Mariku muses. "I suppose not. Still, I never thought you'd be one for rough sex. I mean…"

"Shut it, Ishtar. You don't know what you're talking about." Shaking the blonde off my shoulder, I clamber to my feet. How those two go at it every night I'll never know. My entire body is stiff, and the desire for a shower is practically overwhelming. I start making my way to the bathroom, only to pause as Marik's intense gaze rests upon me.

"What?"

The blonde simply shakes his head and gives me one of his strange, unbalanced smirks. "Never mind." He promptly turns his attention to Circe, who has come up to rub insistently against his thigh.

I roll my eyes. "In that case I'll be in the shower."

"Really?" The twitch in Marik's eyebrow is barely noticeable, but I recognize it for what it is. "Mind if I join you?"

I pause. On any other morning I would ignore this, disregard it as pointless coquetry. But why not? What shouldn't I invite Mariku along? Bakura certainly wouldn't be pleased. He's game enough when it's the three of us, but somehow I get the feeling that if excluded he wouldn't be quite as eager.

"Your boyfriend might not be too happy about that, Ishtar."

"Don't worry." He tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. "I'm just an added bonus, remember?"

There is something acidic in his words, something that is at once comical and irate, lonesome and hopelessly mad. Everything about the blonde seems to reflect this same, transcending equivocation. A dual meaning. Universal opposites. Beautiful yet harsh. Cruel yet delicate. Mariku is an enigma even to himself, and that is, in many ways, incredibly appealing. Pushing Circe aside, I pull him into a kiss. He gasps softly, lips still tender from the previous night's events.

Before either of us have time to think we are on our feet, stumbling towards the bathroom. We choose the one in my room. It is out of the way, farther from Bakura's slumbering form.

We do not wait for the water to heat. Immediately we are under its spray. I pull Marik against me, dimly aware of how strange, how completely unanticipated this moment is. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected, would I have even dared to hope, that I could ever reach out for the darkness of Malik Ishtar. But here he is, smelling of sex and desert sunlight, wanting me as something separate, something completely distinct from Zorc or his lasting phantom Bakura.

"Touzouko…" His teeth are on my neck. Snarling, biting, they threaten to draw blood. Spikes of golden hair, weighted down with water, obscure his penetrating gaze. I admire Mariku's body. It's strange, but the body he has now varies somewhat from Malik's. The differences are subtle. Marik is bonier, not skinnier necessarily, but more angular. His figure is sharp, as if he were constructed of something other than flesh and blood.

"What are you staring at?" The blonde looks again as if he might laugh, but thinks better of it at the last minute. Instead he runs his hand almost reverently along my abdomen. "Mmm..."

"What?" I cock my head to the side. Sometimes Mariku really is bizarre.

Shaking his head, the spirit licks playfully at my navel. His tongue travels lower. It is becoming harder and harder to control my moans. He hums as he takes me in, sending pleasurable vibrations up my torso. I jerk. The water around us is hot enough to produce steam, and Marik's mouth is even hotter.

But neither of us is content to leave it at that. Releasing me, the blonde stands up. We are both hard now, both delusional with need. Once again I am glad I retained the powerful body of my ancient life. Lifting Marik to my hips is easy. He whimpers as I slide into him, his nails digging painfully into my flesh.

"Harder…" He shudders. I am already going at a fairly rapid pace. "Do me like you did Bakura."

This catches me off guard, and I take a moment to scrutinize the blonde. There is no deception in his features, no lies or taunting in his request. Mariku is simply violence, simply hatred, simply fear. He gains pleasure from torment…and no matter how magnificently stunning he is I must never forget that.

"You sure?" A part of me is still waiting, still praying that he will change his mind. "Come on Mariku. Don't be…"

"Damnit, Touzouko! Ra fucking damnit! Didn't you hear what the fu…"

Marik's words catch in his throat as I shove him to the floor of the shower. Flipping him onto his stomach, I ram in…hard.

"You like that?" I grind his face into the shower's unforgiving tiles. "You fucking like that? I hope you do, you sick shit! I hope it's the best goddamn thing you ever felt!"

I can't remember the last time I was this angry. Damn him. Damn Marik for being beautiful, for being crazy, for being cruel and fragile and wretchedly hateful and sad. I'm sick of it. All I want to do is get away, forget I ever knew him or Yami Bakura. I'll go live with Ryou. Screw the two of them. For all I care they can stay in this apartment and rot.

"…ahh…Touzo…" Marik comes, shooting his seed across the checkered expanse of tiles and yellowed grouting. A few thrusts later, and I also find my climax. The rush of passion leaves my ears, and I am left only with our heavy breathing and the sound of water as it strikes my back. This tranquil rhythm is soothing and brings me slowly back to my senses. The blonde is still slumped beneath me, his body at a rather uncomfortable looking angle. Mercifully hidden by a mass of golden hair, I cannot see his face.

"M-Marik…" My voice shakes. Whether it is from exhaustion or anger I cannot say. "We should leave before Bakura wakes up."

Nodding slowly, the blonde lurches into a sitting position. Though he feigns indifference, Mariku doesn't wish for his lover to know of this. "You're right. I…I'll go bathe in the other bathroom."

As the spirit exits the shower I notice for the first time the blood running down his legs. He notices it when I do, for this is the second time I have seen the flush of humiliation cross his cheeks. Could it be that Marik hates what he is just as much as everyone else? My anger dies out as quickly as it came.

"I'll go then."

"Right." I nod at his retreating form. I wait for him to close the door then shower again quickly. It's almost noon, and there's a good chance Bakura will wake up. Pulling on a pair of jeans to avoid yesterday's mishap, I make my way into the living room. The paler of the spirits is just where we left him, passed out on the couch. Mariku must still be in his bedroom.

I brew the coffee in silence, alone but for the unnerving stare of Circe, who has curled herself up beside the windowsill. She looks at me incredulously, an almost knowing glint tinting her pupils.

"Do you remember that night, Touzouko?"

Bakura is looming in the doorway. He looks tired and pissed off and is for once perfectly solemn.

"What night?"

The pale-haired spirit merely snorts. "Don't give me that bullshit! The night we returned of course!"

I frown. Strange that he would want to talk about it. "Yes…of course I remember." I remember the sensation of being woken from a deep yet troubled sleep, of breathing in cold water and feeling as if it were taking over and pushing all the blood from my veins. Yes, I remember. It would be impossible not to. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Do you remember the book?"

"The book? I suppose I do, yes."

Bakura cracks the faintest of grins. "The Book of Dark Alchemy. And how do you suppose Ryou came upon it?"

"I'm not sure. I never really thought to ask." Something's wrong. Why is Bakura suddenly so interested in that spell book? It was destroyed along with the seven Sennen Items.

As if reading my thoughts, the spirit shakes his head. "I don't desire its power, if that's what you're afraid of. I'm simply curious about the nature of the spell they used to destroy the Items. Do remember, they didn't bring us back because they wanted to. It was out of pure necessity."

Bakura is right. In order to forever lay to rest the evil of the Sennen Items, Yugi and his companions understood that they must be destroyed. However, to accomplish this they first had to be purified. That of course meant freeing the souls trapped within them. The Spell of Resurrection is a complicated process. It, like so many other spells found in the Book of Dark Alchemy, requires a blood sacrifice. Thankfully this sacrifice is not quite as extreme as that used to make the Items. No one has to die.

No, Ryou and Yugi simply had to spill some of their blood at the site where the Sennen Items had been buried by rubble. Then, after reciting the ancient scriptures written in the book, Bakura, Atemu, and myself appeared in physical form.

It sounds so simple when I explain it now. So clean cut, but in reality Egyptian spells are not easy to master. It isn't just a matter of deciphering and speaking them. You have to pay attention to how you speak them, when you speak them, and even your movements made while speaking them. If it hadn't been for the Ishtars' limitless knowledge of the gods and ancient religion, things most certainly would have gone terribly awry.

I almost laugh recalling the looks on their faces when we returned. They hadn't expected us to receive mortal bodies, and they most certainly weren't anticipating two 'Bakuras' emerging instead of one. However, what came next was even more unnerving.

I have said before that in order to destroy the Items, they first had to be purified, and after clearing our souls from the Ring and Puzzle, everyone thought it was time to perform the final incantation. Unfortunately, something went wrong. I remember screaming as a horrible pain wracked my entire body. The scent of burning flesh, of Bakura and Atemu's own agonized gasps. Only after this attempt failed did we realize something. There was still a wayward soul trapped within one of the Items.

The hardest part was convincing Malik. Understandably, he was not keen on resurrecting his yami. No one was. There is a sort of stigma about Mariku that even Bakura has escaped. It's not just his madness, for we are all in our own ways mad. It is that in this madness, this madness that he wears so readily on his sleeve, he is also amazingly intelligent. Bakura is similar, but for one difference. He can hide his insanity. He can tuck it away and feign mental soundness in almost any situation. Marik cannot. Even without his desire for world destruction, he remains as crazy as ever.

Yet somehow in his madness, Mariku was smart enough to figure out a way to seal himself within the Sennen Rod. If it hadn't been for this insight, he most surely would have faded from existence after Battle City. True, the blonde was weak, but when Malik's reluctant blood was finally spilled, he too was granted a physical form.

Bakura's laughter jolts me from my thoughts. "I see you do remember." His smirk widens. "How could you forget?"

"Why?" The question is unexpected, even to myself. "Why does it matter? We're back. What more could you possibly want?"

Bakura's smile fades, and he is left looking almost reflective. "What more could I want? Don't be stupid, Touzouko. Do you really have to ask?"

These words are not meant to be harsh. He says them quietly, with reverence…almost. For the first time I sense a great desperation in Bakura. He is unhappy, unhappy, perhaps, in the same way that Marik is unhappy. One would think they would find solace in each other…but perhaps not. They are both too stubborn, too proud, to admit their despondence. They simply do not know how to seek out or receive any form of consolation.

"Where's Ishtar?"

I silently pray he cannot read the guilt written on my face. "Shower, I think."

"Right." Bakura nods. "You don't think…"

"Think what?"

"Never mind." The pale-haired spirit turns and begins making his way down the hall. He bypasses his bedroom and heads out onto the balcony. I know better than to disturb him.

* * *

Several hours later I get a call from Ryou. He's inviting us to dinner.

"You guys should show up around six. I'm making this incredible vegetarian stir fry."

"All of us?" This is the third time I've asked that question. Needless to say I'm a little bit on edge.

Laughter from the other end. "Of course all of you! It would be rude to invite just one."

"What about…"

"I already talked to Malik about Mariku. He said it would be okay."

"Seriously?" Last time both blondes were in Domino they couldn't even be in the same room together.

"Yup."

I'm still a bit uneasy, but I suppose there's not much I can do. Once Ryou gets an idea formulating in his brain, there is very little that can dissuade him. In many ways he's even more obstinate than Bakura.

"Alright, we'll see you in an hour." Hanging up the phone, I go to look for the two yamis. I find them lounging in their bed, watching television. I enter, and Bakura looks up. Mariku's eyes, however, remain adverted, and I wonder if it has something to do with our morning excursion.

"What is it?"

"Ryou called." I frown at the TV screen. Do they _always_ have to watch porn? "He wants us to go to his house for dinner."

Bakura grunts. "Yeah, sure. We'll go."

"I can't." Marik still won't meet my gaze.

The other spirit looks at him sharply. "Why the fuck not?"

"I…" Worlds fail him, and the blonde turns his attention back to the TV. "I just…"

"Oh for the love of Ra! He's your _hikari_. Who cares whether he wants you there or not?"

I glare at Bakura, mentally cursing his insensitive nature. However, my rage is clouded by my sympathy for Marik. I never realized before how badly Malik's hatred affects him. I've always thought him neutral on the matter, but if he reacts like this…

"Fine," the blonde answers stiffly. "When do we leave?"

"About half an hour, and try to dress nicely. Ryou won't let you in the house looking like that."

Marik grunts in reply, while Bakura merely sneers. "What's wrong with what we're wearing?"

"There's not enough of it." Neither of them can deny this. Marik's clad in nothing but a pair of underwear, and as for the paler spirit…well I'm not sure he's wearing anything at all under that bed sheet. "I'll meet you at the car."

"I'm driving."

Both Marik and I snort at Bakura's demand. "You are _not _driving."

* * *

"So, um…how's Egypt?"

"Fine. Isis likes her new job."

"Really? That's lovely."

"Yeah, Ry. It's great. Touzouko, would you pass me the pepper?"

"Sure."

"Thanks…so how are things in Domino?"

We've been at my hikari's for almost an hour, and this is as far as the conversation has gotten. Ryou, the always gracious host, does most of the talking. Malik plays along to be polite but refuses to so much glance at his blond look-a-like, and I divide my time between passing food and making sure Bakura doesn't do anything dreadful. Normally I'd be keeping an eye on Marik too, but seeing as all he's done so far is erect broccoli mountains with his chopsticks…

"Hey Bakura," Ryou's carefully pleasant expression is now directed at the Ring's former inhabitant. "How long have you and Mariku been together?"

"You what?" Malik seems to have forgotten that he is not on speaking terms with his yami. "Since when were you…"

"About six months." Marik's head is down, and he appears to be addressing his dinner plate. "After you left for Egypt."

"Oh."

Dead quiet. The only noise in the entire room is that of Ryou's fingers drumming nervously on the kitchen table. An expression of disbelief and something else clouds Malik's face. Things are looking bad when finally Bakura breaks the silence.

"So…are you sleeping in the guest bedroom, or have you and Ryou decided to share?"

Both hikaris gape at him in disbelief. "What?!"

"I mean I figured you guys would be fucking by now. I just…"

"Bakura!" Ryou's cheeks are flush with embarrassment, and I must bite my lip to keep from laughing. "That isn't funny! How dare you talk to Malik like that! He's our guest!"

Bakura's voice is so filled with innocence it would give Yugi's a run for its money. "I can't believe it. You mean you really haven't had sex?"

"No, actually. WE HAVEN'T!"

"That's a pity, but you know…we could give you some lessons. I'm sure Ishtar wouldn't mind. Right, _dear?_"

"Oh, of _course!_" The blonde's sarcasm could rust iron. "I'll bet Malik absolutely _loves_ that idea."

Malik doesn't reply but suddenly finds the ice in his lemonade very interesting. This is the first time in ages the boy's even been willing to be near his yami, and now it's as if Mariku is trying to fuck it up. Ryou, too, seems to sense this, for he quite suddenly stands up.

"Mariku, would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a minute?" The fact that Ryou has no intention of checking anything in the kitchen is painfully clear.

The blonde pauses. Then, with a reluctant nod, he follows my hikari out of the room. That leaves Malik, Bakura, and myself alone at the table. The pale-haired darkness is the first to speak.

"Tell me, Malik. I'm rather curious. When did you decide to stop running and finally face Mariku?"

The boy gives Bakura a tired glare. "I wasn't running. I'm just…not as strong as Ryou. I can't…"

"Face him?" I ask this with no hint of derision. It is an honest dilemma, one I have often been forced to face myself. "You find your yami's madness unnerving."

Malik shudders. "What did you expect me to do? Welcome him with open arms? I-I couldn't do that. I don't want to hate him. I don't want to hate anyone, but…"

"He doesn't hate you." Bakura's voice is terrifyingly in its rationality. "He hates a lot of things, but not you."

"But he is hate"

"He is many things." This time it is I who speak. Marik is by no means a good person, but certainly he is a complex one. I remember the shame I glimpsed in him after our shower. His madness isn't caused by a lack of emotions. Rather, it is the product of too many of them. He simply has trouble comprehending what exactly he feels.

Malik opens his mouth to say something else but closes it again as Ryou and Mariku emerge from the kitchen. Mariku looks slightly abashed, Ryou determinedly cheerful.

"What do you say we clear this up and watch a movie? Or did you want dessert?"

"Dessert?" Bakura eyes his look-a-like skeptically. "What kind of dessert?"

Ryou shakes his head but smiles despite himself. "Nothing special. I'll get some ice cream out of the freezer, okay?"

"Ice cream? What kind?"

"Mint chocolate, I think."

The former Lord of Darkness pulls a face. "Mint? That's disgusting."

"Then don't eat it."

"Maybe I won't."

For all of his evil, for of all his heartlessness, cruelty, and vicious cunning, Bakura's behavior is often rather ridiculous. It doesn't matter if it has to do with world destruction or ice cream preference. His opinions are always outspoken, often deadly, and sometimes quite hilarious.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Said yami glares at me darkly.

"Nothing…Kura." I breeze past him easily, smirking in a way that reminds us both of the previous night's events. Bakura doesn't reply, but the glint in his eyes deepens from annoyance to true anger. It doesn't matter though. I win again. Remember, it's all about control.

In the living room Ryou is picking out a DVD from the storage cabinet beneath the TV. Malik is busying himself with bowls of ice cream, and, to my surprise, Marik is helping him. They don't say a word. They don't even make an attempt to look at each other, but whatever my hikari said to Marik must have worked.

"I'll have them on speaking terms in no time." Ryou, movie clutched in his fists, winks and leans over to whisper more into my ear. "And you thought Bakura was the clever one!"

* * *

It's nearly three o'clock in the morning, and I wish now more than ever that our car's heater wasn't broken. Mariku peers out the window as he drives, barely able to see the road through the blizzard of snow assaulting it. We left Ryou's house about twenty minutes ago. Bakura is in the back, seemingly asleep, and I am up front with Marik.

"It's fucking freezing."

The blonde nods. "Yeah."

"Weather in Japan sure is a bitch."

Mariku answers with a grunt that I assume means he agrees. What's with him? If I didn't know the spirit I'd say he was simply tired, but no. He's too tense. I can see the veins in his arms, in his neck, bulging and spidering outward. Even his pupils seem smaller than normal.

"What's wrong, Mariku?"

"Huh? Oh, n-nothing…"

He avoids my gaze, nails digging painfully into the steering wheel. Perhaps it would be best if I left him alone. Instead, I stare out the window. The warmth of our breathing has caused it to become clouded with steam, so everything beyond it seems distorted.

"Touzouko?"

I turn to the blonde. "Yes?"

"I…uh…I'm sorry…"

_Sorry?! _Is he on something?

"I didn't mean to…"

"To what?"

"This morning, I…" Mariku's gaze shifts suddenly to Bakura's reflection in the rearview mirror. "…forget it…it doesn't matter."

Looking at him now, I am suddenly struck with guilt. What happened in the shower, it was reprehensible. As I've said before, Marik can't help what he is. I shouldn't have treated him so harshly.

"Marik, I…"

Just then Bakura opens his eyes and yawns. "We there yet?"

"Yeah. We just pulled in." With practiced ease the blonde slides into a parking space. I watch as the two spirits exit the car. So graceful, fluid, catlike. The storm has begun to clear away, and moonlight falls from the darkness, illuminating Domino's jungle of towering skyscrapers. If only they could see themselves.

Bakura is all white. In this strange, unearthly glow he seems an apparition. Born from perhaps a billion tiny snow flakes, it is impossible to think of him as a creature meant for hell. No, he is a god. A god of moonlight, of stars, of cold midwinter and crystals hidden deep within the earth.

Then there is Marik. The moon shines brilliantly off his hair, causing it to turn a shade more radiant than any gold. I can't explain this color. I only know that its beauty is matched only by his eyes. If angels wept, his eyes would be the color of their tears. Luminous. Startling. A shade of lilac so rich you can almost smell them blooming.

I wonder what I resemble, caught like this in the depths of a winter's night. Not nearly as ethereal as them. They are beautiful. They are terrible. They are…staring at me. No. Of course not. Don't be stupid. I've lasted 3000 years, and now is not the time to go insane.

* * *

**-TOT** (This chapter was hard to write. I had writer's block and finals and so much choral stuff going on I thought I would die. Not to mention that I find writing in first person INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT!!! Oh well. It's good for me as an author to try something different. And now that things have settled down I'll be able to update more often.) 


	3. Faith

**Chapter 3- Faith**

* * *

"Where the_ fuck_ were you?"

"Does it matter?"

Bakura slams his fist into the wall's flimsy plaster. "Of course it matters! What were you up to, Marik?"

"I went out. You do it all the time."

The paler spirit grabs one of the kitchen chairs and throws it across the room. "Is that what this is about? Shit! I never stay out this late!"

"No…you just show up around midnight drunk and wanting sex."

"Well maybe if you weren't so goddamn bitchy all the time I wouldn't _have _to be drunk to want it!"

Marik clenches his fists, expression livid. "If you hate me that fucking badly, Bakura, then maybe you should just leave."

"Why?" Bakura sneers. "This is _my_ apartment. I should kick you out!"

"…fine."

I manage to tackle the blonde before he reaches the door. He can't go out, not when he's this smashed. "Come on, Ishtar. Don't be stupid."

"Get the hell off me!"

I fight the urge to let go as he jabs me in the stomach with his elbow. This fight is bad even for the two spirits. Mariku spits in my face, and his breath smells like cigarettes and cheap vodka.

"Let him go, Touzouko. It'll teach him not to be such a cunt!"

"Cunt? You fucked up bastard! I'll show you whose the…"

"No." I grab Mariku's wrists, securing them firmly behind him. "You won't."

Bakura begins to cackle as the trapped spirit turns on me with a snarl. "Touzouko!" Jerking his limbs to the point of dislocation, he tries to break free. "Touzouko…stop…"

"That's right, you shit-faced slut!" Bakura's words echo with tainted laughter. "Cocksucking bitch! You'd better keep begging!"

My grip on the blonde's wrists loosens, and whether it is because he is fighting too hard or because I really want to see him kick the shit out of Bakura even I can't say for certain. Either way, Mariku is on him like a wild thing. He tears into him with his nails, his teeth, not so different from when they're having sex, except perhaps for the level of animosity smoldering in their eyes.

I should probably intervene. "Would you two knock it off?" Shoving my shoulder between them, I have just managed to pull Bakura out from beneath his distraught lover when a sudden blow to the head causes me to see stars. "Goddamn it, Mariku!" A punch that was probably meant for the white-haired spirit glances painfully off my temple. "God _fucking_ damnit!"

The blonde's body shudders as my fist tears into him. Eyes wide with astonishment, he collapses to the carpet.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" My glare swivels sharply from Marik to Bakura. I can feel blood oozing from a cut above my right eyebrow. "Who do you think you are? A couple of fucking five-year olds? I'm sick of this shit! Find someone else to baby sit you!"

This is followed by complete silence. They're both staring at me, a mixture of shock and possibly guilt showing on their faces. This is the second time in four days I've lost my temper, but spend a couple of months with Marik and Bakura and Buddha himself would blow a gasket.

"I'm going to bed. I don't care if_ either_ of you leave, but first you've got to clean up this shit." Indicating to the mass of rubble that used to be our kitchen, I storm out. I slam the door behind me and sprawl fuming onto my mattress. Between the sporadic palpitations of my own pulse I can hear them wordlessly putting our house back in order. Despite my anger, I can't help but chuckle. One minute they are trying to kill each other, the next silently tidying the kitchen and living room. Knowing those two, the next stop is most likely sex.

Or maybe not. Someone has just exited through the front door. My guess is it was probably Bakura. Marik's footsteps are heavier than his, and I can hear them coming down the hall. Putting my tomb-robbing skills to use, I continue to listen. The blonde pauses outside my door. I must have hit him harder than I thought, because even now his breathing is rather wheezy.

After what feels like an eternity Marik once more begins to travel. I hear the hiss of the showerhead in the other bathroom and fight hard to repress thoughts of his naked body under the spray. Damn. How can I be pissed and turned on by him at the same time?

Ignoring the brief tingle between my thighs, I strip out of my clothes and roll under the blankets to try and get some sleep. It's been a rough night, and I can already feel a serious migraine coming on. If only Mariku hadn't…

A knock on my door. I've grown to expect a great deal of strange behavior from both spirits, but even this astounds me.

"Marik?"

The door swings open, allowing the blonde's silhouette to fill the empty space it's left behind. His request is unspoken yet startlingly clear. I move over, and he slips in beside me. No words. Only breathing and the slight squeal of mattress springs as he makes himself comfortable. This isn't about sex. I'm not even sure what it _is_ about. All I know is that Mariku Ishtar is in my bed, saying nothing, curled up and facing the wall.

I don't get him. Even if he didn't want to sleep in his bedroom, it's not like we don't have a couch. Not that I mind. If anything, I wish the blonde would scoot closer.

Heh. So much for being pissed off.

I take a moment to study Marik's back. The scars are too big for it. They make his shoulders appear smaller, disguising their actual broadness. His body is a strong one. Slender but powerful, I picture him as he might have been if he had lived in the days of the Pharaohs. Mariku would have made a good assassin, too spontaneous to be a thief, but as a mercenary he would have excelled.

The blonde's breathing begins to even out as he comes closer and closer to falling asleep. It's been a long day, and I too start to nod off. Once again I am struck by the absolute strangeness of this whole situation. Three millennia and there are things that still astound me.

* * *

When I wake up five hours later Mariku is no longer on the other side of the bed. Instead he is closer, pressed almost against me though we are not touching. However, a couple of spare inches do not prevent me from feeling the tantalizing warmth of his body. I allow my hand to trail gently across his cheekbone. Who knew Marik's skin was that soft? He stirs as my calloused palms trace the kohl smeared beneath his eyelids. Reluctantly, I pull away. Now is not the time. I must first look for Bakura.

He's not in the apartment. I can sense that immediately. Things are too quiet…no, not quiet…peaceful. Wherever the pale-haired spirit goes, a sort of inexplicable tension seems to follow. He exudes it even while sleeping. There is something foreboding in Bakura's presence, something electric that tints the very air he breathes. I do not sense it now in this house, only early morning stillness…and the less eerie but equally disturbing puzzle that makes up the aura of Marik Ishtar.

I dress quickly, not wanting to wake the blonde from his strangely tranquil slumber. Before leaving I pause. Should I leave a note? No. That's stupid. Mariku wouldn't even bother reading it.

I am pleasantly surprised by the weather. This is the warmest it's been all winter, and for the first time in what seems like centuries the sun is actually shining. Still, I can't help feeling a bit uneasy as I make my way towards the Ironhorse District. One of the seediest and most dangerous neighborhoods in Domino City, it is only natural that Bakura should be attracted to it.

I make my way past various liquor stores and 'gentlemen's spas', heading towards the one place the spirit is most likely to be found. Necropolis is a dance club located on the northernmost outskirts of Ironhorse. I've been there only once, and all I can remember of it is the scent of sweat the constant flashing of strobe lights.

I don't know why Bakura likes this place. As far as I can tell he doesn't even dance…just sits at the bar alone, drinking shots and watching as young mortals are consumed by the music's transfixing beat. What does he get out of it? A sense of power? Elevation? Anonymity? Who can say for certain? I am, after all, speaking of Bakura.

The doors of Necropolis are open all night. In fact, I'm not sure they ever close. If someone's too tired or stoned to go home they are always welcome to spend the remainder of the evening passed out on the floor. The music is turned off when I enter. However, the rave lights are still going, a residue of sin dimmed by morning sunlight.

I wander the dance floor, stopping occasionally at a group of sleeping figures to see if one of them is Bakura. No such luck. Of course, Bakura is never one to let down his guard. No matter how pissed off or drunk he was, the spirit would never sleep somewhere so exposed.

"Whaddya want?"

A man who must be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty stares at me from where he sits slumped against the wall.

"I'm looking for someone. About 5'9, pale hair, black trench coat. You seen him?"

The man laughs, and I force myself not to cringe at the pungent, onion-like scent of his breath. "Ya, I know 'm. Comes 'n all the time."

"Mind telling me where he is?"

"Yea sure. He's probl'over at the bar. Ya know, the…"

I turn and begin making my way towards the back of Necropolis. This club is huge, alive, vibrant. Strange that it would be named for a crypt. Still, there is something about this blatant contradiction that is eye-catching, attractive even.

"Touzouko…"

The familiar roughness of Bakura's voice catches my ear. The spirit is sitting at the far end of the bar's counter, hunched over, coat wrapped tightly around his slender torso. He gazes at me tiredly, and for a brief instant I am allowed to glimpse him with none of his falsities or illusions.

"Touzouko, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Let's go."

Bakura sighs. There are bags beneath his eyes. His hair has slipped from wild to merely disheveled. If I didn't know better I would say he looked overwhelmed, but Bakura does not become overwhelmed. Bakura does not feel exhaustion, does not feel sadness, and most certainly he does not feel anything so useless and petty as love. I learned that lesson in ancient Egypt, and I am reminded of it daily by the way he treats Mariku.

"Did_ he_ send you?" The pale-haired demon's glare seems to pierce my very soul. "I will not give in to that bitch's whining!"

"He's sleeping," I say shortly. "I left while he was sleeping."

The slumping of Bakura's shoulders is so subtle that I am barely able to catch it. He looks so jaded, so…to be honest he looks kind of sexy, in a brooding bastard sort of way.

"You mean to tell me that Ishtar didn't…"

"No. He did not."

Bakura stares hard at me for a second, almost as if he's searching for something hidden in my gaze. Then, quite suddenly, he grabs me by the wrist. "What is it that you want," he breathes, "more than anything in the world?"

"What I want?" Since when does the Spirit of the Ring care what _I _want? "Fuck…I-I don't know."

"Yes you do!" He's clutching my arm so tightly it's starting to bruise. "Don't lie to me! Everyone knows what they desire the most!"

"No, Bakura. They don't." Jerking myself from his death-like grip, I attempt to lead the distraught yami from the club. "You've been out all night. It's time to get some sleep."

"Touzouko?"

Why is he doing this? Who does Bakura think he is, trying to toy with me like that? I won't allow it. I won't…

"Touzouko!"

"WHAT!?"

He leans into me, so close our noses are practically touching. "When you know what you want, you will tell me…understand?"

I shrug. Bakura is every bit is confusing as Marik. "No problem. I'll be sure to tell you. Now come _on_."

* * *

As if things weren't bizarre enough. The second I open the door to our apartment, we are greeted by Ryou's smiling face. He's here with Malik, and they seem to be…making pancakes?

"H-hikari?"

"Oh! Hey Touzouko! Did you and Kura have a good…um…walk?"

"Yeah, sure." I peer into the kitchen, where Malik appears to be attacking the batter with a whisk. "What are you doing here?"

"Making breakfast, of course."

Hearing this, Malik glances at us over his shoulder. "It was Ry's idea. Blame him!"

"Oh, you know you wanted to come too!" Winking at me, Ryou makes his way back over to the bronzed hikari. "I sent Mariku to the store to buy some syrup. You guys really need some more variety in your diets."

Bakura and I exchange glances. "What…the…hell?"

The spirit shakes his head in disbelief. "Maybe he's on crack or something."

"That's definitely a possibility." In truth, I probably know more than I'm letting on. There is a good chance that this is all part of Ryou's campaign to make us less 'isolated'.

The door creaks open, and Mariku emerges. He's holding a bottle of maple syrup and looks both tired and slightly amused. "Um…where do you want this?"

"Bring it back here, please!"

The blonde hesitates for a moment, hands twitching nervously as he tries to ignore the sudden tension in Malik's body as well as Bakura's glare. Then he makes his way into the kitchen. Setting the bottle down on the counter, he turns to me.

"Where'd you go?"

I can feel Bakura's eyes boring into my spine. "Just on a walk."

"Oh." Mariku knows I'm lying but decides to let it pass. Instead, he wanders over to Circe, who is napping on the couch's armrest. I watch as he runs his fingers through her fur. He's never that gentle with any of his human companions.

"Okay guys, you can come eat!"

We follow Ryou's voice to the table, where he and Malik are depositing several stacks of pancakes. Malik seems a bit on edge, but he smiles and sits down with the rest of us, next to his yami in fact. The meal is anything but quiet. Despite his often reserved manner, Ryou can be a genius of dialogue. He engages Bakura, Marik even, in conversation with a skill I would not have expected of him.

However, the two spirits refuse to address each other. Mariku creates intricate patterns in his syrup, while the paler spirit forks down his food determinedly. Neither looks up. Neither speaks unless spoken to by Ryou, Malik, or myself. I find myself wondering why the two hikaris have not noticed this. Hmm…perhaps it's not so peculiar. Neither Malik nor even Ryou understands them as I do. That's not to say they don't care for Marik and Bakura, for I can see now more than ever that they do. They simply aren't around them enough. They are unable to recognize their every day madness from true anger.

"So, Marik." Ryou beams at the blonde. "Yesterday Malik was telling me some of the Egyptian myths he learned as a child. Like that one…oh, what was it? About how some god cut up his brother…I can't…"

"The story of Seth and Osiris." Mariku answers mechanically, almost as if the information was hardwired in his brain. "Seth desired to rule Egypt, so he killed his brother, Osiris, and scattered pieces of his body throughout the kingdom."

Yes, that's right! And then his sister, Isis, searched out the pieces and put him back together." Ryou's smile grows wider. My light is craftier than he looks, even if he did 'forget' the story.

"Not exactly." Malik shakes his head. "In the story Isis was Osiris' consort, not his…"

Marik intervenes. "She was his consort _and_ his sister."

"What!" Ryou feigns astonishment. "Really?"

"Yeah, the gods were incestuous…and gay. Sometimes they were gay."

Malik nods. "My yami is right. Even in Greek mythology…"

"But what about the rest of the story?" Marik's eyes glint mischievously. "Did my hikari tell you about how Isis couldn't find his pe…"

"MARIKU!" Jumping from his seat, Malik practically hurdles the table in his rush to stifle the yami's words. "I don't think Ryou wants to hear about that!"

"Hear about what?" The snow-haired light fights hard…but fails…to quell the triumph in his voice. So that's what this was about, hmm? More Marik and Malik bonding time via Dr. Ryou.

Bakura has been quiet for some time. He doesn't look the least bit happy. Finished eating, he divides his time between kicking the leg of my chair and glaring vehemently at Marik. The blonde senses this but chooses to ignore him. This has the direct effect of pissing off the paler spirit even more. I should probably do something to distract him.

"Hey Bakura."

"…what…"

"Stop it."

He gives me an annoyed look. "Stop what?"

"That." I indicate to his foot, still tapping relentlessly against my seat. As anticipated, this causes Bakura to kick my chair harder.

"Why? It's not like I'm hurting anyone."

"No, I suppose not…you're just being more irritating than usual."

The spirit bristles. "I am _not_ irritating!"

"No," Ryou titters. "You're not temperamental either!"

This conflict has the bizarre effect of putting Bakura in a better mood. Such a good mood, in fact, that he even deigns to make some conversation.

"So Malik…" The earnestness in the spirit's voice is unsettling to say the least. "Have you and Ryou still not hit it off? I figured after a few days you would warm up to each other. I mean…"

"BAKURA!"

"No need to get _testy_ Ryou. I just…"

"Don't…talk…" Both boys are beet red with embarrassment. "Just…don't…talk…"

I suppose that some things never change.

* * *

It is ten o'clock, and I find myself lying in bed, listening as Bakura and Mariku scream at each other relentlessly. For a few hours after Malik and Ryou left things were relatively quiet. Quiet enough for me to risk a quick trip to the grocery. That was a mistake. When I returned, the apartment was immersed in chaos.

"Get the hell off me!"

…that was Marik…

"Why? Don't you fucking turn your back on me!"

…and Bakura…

This time they aren't fighting about staying out late. No, it seems their arguments have evolved. Now it's about sex.

"Stop whining and get in that bed!"

"Fuck off!" Marik screams this with so much force his voice almost cracks. Rolling over, I try to block out their bickering. As I've said before, I'm done with this shit. No more breaking up fights. It's time the spirits learned how to resolve their own conflicts.

"Damn it, Ishtar! Can't we just drop this whole thing?"

"Why? Because you're horny?"

"Not because I'm horny! Because I'm…"

Bakura is interrupted by a loud crash that sounds suspiciously like the ceramic lamp in the hallway being hurled across the room. Hmm…that lamp was probably expensive.

"I don't want to hear it, Bakura! Leave me the_ FUCK_ alone!"

"Alone?" Something unbearably ugly has crept into the paler yami's tone. "You want to be _alone?_ No! Marik? I would have never guessed…Yami Malik wants to be alone? Isn't _that_ a shocker!"

"SHUT _UP!_" This time the blonde's voice cracks without question. His words quiver with emotion, threatening to lose control. "Just this once…can't you stop talking?"

"I'll talk whenever the hell I want! Got tha…"

"…_please_, Bakura…just shut up…just shut the fuck up..."

These words, spoken in a tone of desperation so unusual for Mariku, have an effect on the paler spirit that no screams ever could. Silence. He obeys the blonde's request and doesn't utter a single word…for about ten seconds.

"Come on, Marik. Let's forget about this and go to bed. I have enough crap to deal with coming from Ryou and Touzouko. I don't need you to…"

"_SHUT UP! GODDAMN IT, BAKURA! GET AWAY FROM ME!"_

This has gone on long enough. It's obvious neither of them is capable of ending this feud, and I have no choice but to intervene. Mariku's already hysterical, and his hysteria can turn homicidal very quickly. However, just as I have hauled myself to my feet, something strange occurs. Whispers. They're whispering in Egyptian. I can't pick out the words, but the sound is comforting, maternal even. It's almost as if…as if Bakura is trying to console him. I wonder what he's saying. How does a devil go about soothing the woes of a monster?

I may never know, but one thing is clear. Whatever Bakura said isn't working. At first I think Marik is sobbing, which would in itself be incredibly remarkable. But the blonde is not crying. No. He is chanting…an ancient tombkeeper's prayer that guards against evil spirits. It's directed at Bakura. It's…

As I have mentioned before, Mariku is insane, insane in ways and on levels no normal human could possibly comprehend. But the real tragedy is that he's smart enough to know it. He knows that he's crazy, but at the same time he cannot control it. He's tried. Fuck. He _has _tried, but Marik remains a slave to the psychosis of his own mind.

"Ishtar?" This is the closest thing to concern I've ever heard in Bakura's voice. "Ishtar, what are you doing? Stop saying that. Stop it!"

But the blonde has completely lost it. He starts to speak louder, the centuries old verses carrying an unsettlingly beautiful, singsong quality that neither Bakura nor myself has heard in over three millennia. It is a song of deities, of gods and goddesses and of the people who adored them. It echoes of superstition, religion, and myth. It is the voice of the past, of memories long hidden by faded monuments and ever shifting sands.

My original intentions were to stop the yamis' fight before it got too violent. Instead, I find myself on the floor, head resting against the wall as my body breaks into a cold sweat. Damn. How can something so silly as an old prayer distress me like this?

Evidently I am not the only one who has been affected. Bakura does not appreciate Marik's stunt at all. I listen dumbly as his grating voice bounces off the walls.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Cut the bullshit, Marik!"

But he isn't stopping, and I realize quite suddenly that Bakura is beginning to panic. What if the violet-eyed Egyptian doesn't snap out of this one?

"You want me to leave? Fine. I will!" The song reaches its crescendo just as I hear the paler spirit exiting the front door. Still, Marik continues to chant long after the door has closed. I can't take it anymore. I have to do something. Getting to my feet is actually difficult. My legs shake. My head pounds as if someone has struck me at the base of the skull. Even my vision, usually so sharp, seems detached and blurry.

"Mariku?" I make my way cautiously down the hallway towards the lone figure in our living room. "Mariku, what's wrong with you?"

He turns to me, and the second our eyes meet the prayer stops. But his lips continue moving. He continues to speak the words of the ancients, whether silently or in an octave only he can hear no one can truly say. His eyes are wide, the pupils shrunken so that they appear almost completely white in the dimly lit apartment. He is terrifying, insane, luminous. He shines with the radiance of one who has spent too long in the dark. I do what I must do…what I long to do…to stop the soundless motion of his lips.

Marik's now familiar kiss tastes good to me. It's an addiction I could get used to, both a blessing and a curse. I can feel him trembling against me. God, he's so tense. At least the blonde isn't mumbling anymore. His mouth has gone slack, and I don't waste my chance to fully claim it as my own. My tongue slides past his lips, indulging in the hot wetness I find there. Mariku's body begins to shake violently, so violently that I dig a hand in his hair to keep his head steady. I explore his mouth deeply, more thoroughly than ever before. In his irrational state of mind, the spirit offers no resistance. I have complete power over him, complete supremacy. I can do anything. I can dominate him entirely. I…

I sound like Zorc.

I must have thrown him to the ground, for suddenly Marik is staring up at me. His chest is heaving, as is my own, but at least he is finally breaking from his trance.

"Tou…Touzouko…w-what…"

I stumble backwards, too disgusted with myself to touch him. The blonde must mistake the intention of my distaste, for a look of hurt confusion enters his gaze. "What did I do?"

The deadpan listlessness of his voice is so deceiving. The deep shame hidden inside of him…it's crippling.

"…n-nothing..." I swallow dryly. "Don't worry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh." Marik looks around. "Where's Bakura?"

This catches me off guard. He doesn't remember anything from the beginning of the chant onward.

"He…he went out."

"I see." Slowly, Marik gets to his feet. "Our fighting bothers you, doesn't it?"

I shrug. "Don't worry. I've come to accept violence. I'm used to it."

"You must hate it here, being forced to live with us. I would too if I…if I were...you know…"

Unable to help himself, the spirit lets out one of his chillingly broken laughs. But I don't flinch this time. Instead, I reach out and touch his face. I can't believe myself, what could have happened had I not pushed Marik away at the last minute. In that state he wouldn't have fought back. I could have done anything. Beat him, raped him, _killed_ him. And the scary thing is I almost regret it, not taking advantage of Marik while he was defenseless. Why? Because I want him. I want to control him, to own him, to do with him what I will.

I have often wondered how monsters like Zorc can commit such atrocious acts of cruelty, and now I understand. Power can become a craving, a need, an obsession. One taste can lead to a lifetime of dependency. What Zorc did to me, what I almost did to Marik…it disgusts me…yet in a way it is also alluring. I shudder to think how easily demons are created.

"I'm going to bed, Marik. You should too. It's getting late."

The blonde nods dazedly. "Yeah…alright."

* * *

An hour later, lying in my bed, I am aware of familiar footsteps coming down the hall. This time Marik doesn't knock. He slips in quietly and stands there for a moment, indecisive. I pretend to be asleep, and finally he approaches. The bed creaks as he climbs on. Keeping my eyes firmly shut, I use my other senses to track Mariku's movements. He doesn't get under the sheets right away. Instead…

It takes every bit of willpower I possess not to open my eyes as the blonde leans over me. I hope desperately that he doesn't want sex. I can't give him that, not after… No. He doesn't try to wake me. He…he _kisses_ me. Lightly, so lightly I can barely feel it. It's more of a sigh than a kiss, yet I can sense the desire behind it. I want what he wants. I yearn for it.

But not tonight. Marik is tired, distraught, vulnerable. It would be wrong to take advantage of him like this, but at the same time I am aware of something. This is what I've longed for…control. Why then do I push it away? Is it because I am weak? Afraid? Maybe it just isn't what I expected. Maybe…

Enough. I'm tired of thinking. Today has been hectic enough, and I have nothing to look forward to but more insanity and perhaps another search for Bakura. I listen silently as Mariku settles himself on the other side of the bed. I long to hold him, to crush him against me until his madness leaves him and he becomes as sane as any normal person. But then again, if he weren't crazy Marik would cease to be Marik. His psychosis, as troublesome as it can be, is a part of his personality. Lose it, and the blonde would lose a part of himself. Not that he knows who he is to begin with.

Maybe that is ultimately the true source of Marik and Bakura's violence. They are remnants of others. They do not know how to be anything more than what they were hewn from, but that doesn't mean they cannot learn. A conversation I had with Ryou a few days earlier rings clear as crystal.

It's true. Marik and Bakura are monsters. They have done terrible things without remorse, and, if given the opportunity now, there is a good chance they would continue to do so. Yet at the same time there is hope. Hope, because they can change. They can find themselves. In my heart I must believe this. I have to.

It is the only thought that keeps my sanity.

* * *

**-TOT** (Thank you to all those who reviewed or even just took the time to read this story. It is much appreciated. As usual, there is a _lot _of Marik angst in this chapter, but don't worry you Bakura and Touzouko fans out there. The spotlight will fall on them all in good time.) 


	4. Promised Land

**Chapter 4- Promised Land**

* * *

I've been searching for hours, and I can't find Bakura. He wasn't at Necropolis or any of the other clubs in the Ironhorse District. He wasn't at the park, the school, or even Domino Museum's Egyptian exhibit. I'm on my way to Ryou's right now. Perhaps he can help shine some light on this mystery.

I ring the doorbell impatiently. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, I give up and pick the lock. Ryou's car is still in the driveway, so he and Malik have to be home.

The house is unusually quiet. For once the curtains are drawn, shutting out the midday sunlight. I make my way across the carpet of the dimly lit living room. My hikari wouldn't normally sleep so late, so this is, to say the least, peculiar.

"Ryou?" I begin climbing the stairs that lead to his bedroom. "Malik?" Where the hell are they? I open the first door on the left. It leads to the guest bedroom, but…hmm…that's strange. Malik should be in there, yet the bed is undeniably vacant. That means he must be awake, unless…

Ever so slowly, I open the door to Ryou's bedroom. Though I half expect it, the site before me still generates quite a shock. The two hikaris lie together in bed, limbs entwined. Ryou is on his back, propped high up on the pillows, while Malik is positioned farther down the mattress on his stomach. His head appears to be nestled quite comfortably on my light's lower abdomen. If Bakura was disappointed in them before, he most certainly won't be now.

"Umm..hikari?"

Ryou stirs, smiles, then falls back into slumber. He appears to be having a rather pleasant dream. I am almost reluctant to wake him up.

"Hikari?"

"Mmm…" Finally, he opens his eyes. "...whadda want…oh…ello Touzou…Touzou…. TOUZOUKO!"

I flinch as Ryou's voice pierces the house's stifling calm. Malik, sleeping so peacefully before, bolts to a sitting position with a startled yelp.

"W-what are you doing here?"

I struggle desperately with the amusement in my voice. "Looking for Bakura. I thought you might…um…know where he is."

"…s-sorry…" My hikari's eyes are so wide I'm afraid they might burst. "I don't have the…the f-foggiest idea…"

Malik doesn't say anything, but the look on his face is both mortified and angry. He's pulled the sheets over himself and Ryou. However, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that their naked. I wonder…did they only sleep together? Or perhaps things went even farther.

"Well, I'll…leave you two alone. Call if you hear anything from Bakura, alright?"

Ryou nods, while Malik's eyebrow merely twitches. Then I am down the stairs and out the door, bursting into bouts of laughter the second my feet hit pavement. Perhaps more of the pale-haired spirit's humor has gotten into me than I previously thought, for I find this almost as amusing as he would. At the same time, though, I am glad. Glad because Ryou will no longer pester me about living with us, because he will no longer be so wretchedly lonely.

But I have other matters to attend to besides pondering my hikari's newfound relationship. Bakura is still at large, and I am becoming more uneasy by the minute. I'm not so much worried about him as I'm worried about Mariku. The blonde was distraught all morning. Few others would have noticed, but, like Bakura, I have learned to tell. The way his hands clench at the slightest disturbance, the loss of appetite, the anxiety disguised as anger glinting in his eyes.

I hadn't wished for things to come to this, but it seems I'm out of options. Turning the corner at Kaiba Corp, I make my way up the street towards a very familiar building. The cheery paint that adorns the Kame Game Shop seems too vivid. It makes my head hurt.

I walk in and head straight to the front counter. Yugi's grandfather stares at me with his large, almost baleful eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to talk to Yugi."

For a moment Solomon Mouto gives me a hard stare. I can't really blame him. I mean, I don't exactly look friendly, and the fact that most people attribute my mental soundness with that of Marik and Bakura doesn't help much either. Yet finally, with a tired sigh, the old man turns and disappears into one of the store's back rooms.

"Yugi? Yugi! Someone's here to see you!"

"Just a second!" There is the pounding of small feet on stairs, then Yugi Mouto appears in the doorway.

"Touzouko? W-what brings you here?"

I allow myself the briefest smile. Despite the still keen hatred I feel for the Pharaoh and the general distaste for his friends, I cannot help being in a strange way fond of the third and shortest light. Yugi is kind, but that is not the reason I respect him. It is his honesty that compels me, how the goodness of his heart is genuine…he feels no need for a ruse.

"Actually, I'm looking for Bakura. Have you seen him?"

"No." The boy pushes past his grandfather. "I haven't. Is he missing?"

I shrug. "He just isn't at any of his usual hideouts. That's all."

"I see." Yugi chews his lip nervously, uncertain of how to confront me. "I could get Atemu to look for him. I mean, he's at the arcade with Jounouchi right now, but I'm sure…"

"That's probably not the best idea." I repress the urge to scowl. Yugi's assistance is acceptable, but I draw the line when it comes to Yami. "I'll just go back to the apartment and wait. He'll show up eventually."

"Oh, alright." He gives me an unsure wave as I turn to go. "Hey Touzouko?"

"Yes?"

"He came in the other day…Bakura I mean. He wanted to know about the book."

"He what?!" The hairs on my neck prickle and stand on end. There's only one book Bakura would be interested in. "I thought it was destroyed with the Sennen Items."

Yugi swallows. "That's what Yami told him. You don't think…"

"No." I try to sound reassuring…for both our sakes. "Of course not. Bakura's behind that. We all are."

The boy smiles. Have I actually managed to reassure him? "You're right. I'm just reading too much into it."

Yugi. Naive, innocent, foolish Yugi. How can he have faith in _my_ words? I am no more trustworthy than Bakura, no saintlier than Marik. I was once in league with the shadows, with Zorc, with everyone who would wish to do him harm…yet Yugi trusts me. Why? Because I've changed?Because I've somehow _redeemed_ myself? I was allowed out of the stigma of distrust that still surrounds my two companions…and for the life of me I can't see why.

The fact that I was being controlled by Zorc is no excuse. It was my own stupidity that caused this in the first place. Had I not been blinded by the past, by the death of my village, by the deep, childish need to find someone…anyone…to blame for its destruction, Memory World would have never happened. Bakura would not exist. Even the Ishtars, doomed to three millennia without the sun, wouldn't have suffered the burden of the Unknown Pharaoh's memories.

Yet somehow they accept me, forgive me, even trust me…but not Bakura…not Marik. This doesn't make sense to me. After all, my sin was the greatest. I _let _myself be controlled. I _allowed_ my soul to be taken by the Shadows' darkness. I had a choice…something that neither Mariku nor Bakura have ever been blessed with. They couldn't help the content of their hearts, for hatred and pain were all they knew…but I was different. I was born free. I knew right from wrong. I failed everyone…even myself.

"I'll be going then. Call if you find him, alright?"

Yugi nods. "Not a problem. Tell…tell Ryou and Malik I said hello, will you?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

I do not return home immediately. Instead, I wander, pondering what Yugi Mouto has told me. I can see why Bakura would be interested in that spell book. Without it, we would never have been resurrected, and without it, _the people of Kuru Eruna need not have died. _I highly doubt, however, that this is the sole reason the spirit is interested in The Book of Dark Alchemy. There is powerful magic to be found between those pages, and Bakura, diminished though he is, has always been a great lover of power.

Looking up, I am startled to find myself standing in front of Domino Arcade. Jounouchi is staring at me from one of the pinball machines, and Yami, over by the duel tables, seems just to have noticed my presence. What is it with me and walking in on awkward situations? I should probably leave, but at the same time I want to prove something.

"Hello, Jounouchi. _Atemu_."

My greeting seems to have the dual effect of both confusing and unnerving them. Katsuya is the first to speak.

"What do you want, Bak…Touzouko?"

"Yes." Yami is a bit more civil. "What brings you to this side of town?"

I lie. "Just looking for a change of scenery I suppose. I dropped in to say hello to your hikari on the way."

"You _wha_…" The former Pharaoh clears his throat. "I-I mean, what business did you have with Yugi?"

"If you care so much, ask him."

I smirk, if possible making them even more uncomfortable. After all his hard work to ensure that we would at least be tolerated by Yami and his companions, Ryou would no doubt be disappointed by my actions. But hell! It's the most fun I've had all day. I risk sounding like Bakura, but it's the truth. I won't play nice for Atemu no matter what century we live in.

"Well," I smirk. "I suppose I'll leave you to your own devices. Have a good one, Pharaoh."

Yami furrows his brows but remains mute. We are not friends. We may not try to kill each other. We may even be capable of bearing each other's presence…but we are not friends. Everyone accepts it. Truce will never equal comradery.

* * *

I can hear them yelling before I reach the landing. I should be used to it. I should have accepted by now that Mariku and Bakura will always fight…but something about their voices… I sense an urgency that was never there before. This is worse than last night. Worse than the blonde's prayer or the paler spirit storming out. Balances have shifted, lines crossed. I know before I open the door that I don't want to see what lies beyond it.

"…damn it Ishtar…GOD FUCKING DAMN IT! Shut up! This is your fault! You hear me? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

The reply is muffled, somewhere between an angry shout and a scream. I feel my feet propel me forward. I'm not breathing. I can't. My lungs are too choked with dread. _'Don't,'_ I find myself praying. _'Please, Bakura. Just don't…' _

The scene I find upon reaching the spirits' bedroom is impossible. So impossible in fact, that I freeze for a minute, my brain struggling to understand what's going on. How can Marik be shivering half naked on the bed? How can he be gagged? How can it be Bakura holding him there, pinning his limbs against the cotton sheets? For an instant these images swirl in front of me. Then, quite suddenly, everything is brutally clear.

"Bakura…"

He doesn't turn. Perhaps he doesn't even know I'm there, but when I grab him by the back of the collar, the spirit lets out a terrifying scream. He lunges at me, raking his nails at my face and throat like some sort of wild thing. His eyes are bright, not with alertness or anger, but with tears. Bakura is crying. It is this sight more than anything that makes my stomach churn.

"Bakura, stop it! What did you do to him? Bakura!" I shake him, but the spirit remains limp, head lolling brokenly like that of a doll. "COME ON, BAKURA!" I slap him. No response. He merely stares at me, cheeks gleaming with salty wetness in the dreary light of the apartment. I turn my attention to Mariku.

"What did he do? What the hell's _wrong _with him?"

The blonde sits up slowly, pulling the gag from his mouth as he does so. However, Marik doesn't speak. His eyes are as wide as Bakura's, wide yet blessedly tearless. They reflect anger, terror, and of course that permanent, unbearable self-loathing that dwells deep, deep inside. I find myself shivering. At least Bakura didn't rape him. I can tell that much by the cleanliness of the bed sheets…but a tie that once bound them has been broken. Somehow, through their own separate insanities, they understand this. It is why Bakura cries…why Mariku remains strangely silent.

"Get away!" Bakura is suddenly alive again. Pretending tears are not still pouring down his face, he glares at me with his usual, infuriating arrogance. "Take your hands off me, Touzouko! Why do you always find it necessary to meddle with my affairs?"

I laugh. "Your affairs? _Your_ affairs! Since when has there ever been a difference between your business and my own? We're connected, _Kura._ Remember? For three thousand years until the day we die!"

The spirit gasps harshly. It's as if I've hit him, as if he's just touched something very hot. I've never, not since the first day he set foot in my soul, been able to read Bakura's gaze as I can now. He's afraid, afraid of himself, afraid of _me_. He's afraid of this crowded, modern world into which he's been thrust, and he's afraid of how much Marik's refusal to have sex with him truly hurts. I actually feel bad for him. Until now, I'm not sure Bakura understood just how hard being human can really be.

"Baku…"

"SHHH!" He exhales sharply, once more struggling to escape my grasp. "Don't touch me! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME, TOUZOUKO!" Then he rips himself from me and stands alone, forlorn and glowering, in the doorway. Eventually, the heaving of his chest slows. The smoldering hatred that clouds his features dissipates, becomes sadder…more thoughtful.

"You never answered my question."

"What?!" I blink, trying to comprehend what he's saying to me. "Bakura, I don't get what you…"

"The other morning! In Necropolis!" Bakura's momentary calm is once more giving way to hysteria. "The question I asked you. Answer it!"

"I'm _telling_ you! I can't…"

…'_What is it that you want…more than anything in the world?'…_

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I-I still can't answer that."

For a moment the sorrow in Bakura's features overwhelms me. His face, the face tainted by residue of Zorc's evil, does not hold sadness well. Nothing can contain it. The grief flows from him as water from a spring. It tints the air around it, saturates the very light that filters through this room. The pale-haired, wicked spirit lets out a muted sob. In his misery, Bakura is profoundly beautiful. I can't explain it, but then I never can when it has to do with those two.

However, this instant of ethereal loveliness wasn't meant to last. Almost as if he's realized what he's done, Bakura's scowl returns with a vengeance. "Damn it!" he snarls. "Why? Why is this so fucking hard?"

I open my mouth to reply, but he is already gone. The patter of feet down the hallway. The front door flung open, then shut with an ominous slam. That's it. No more Bakura. It's just Mariku and me, alone in the house but for Circe, who stares at us apathetically from the top of the bureau.

"So," I murmur, eyes still locked on that wretched cat. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing." The blonde's voice is so harsh it sounds practically painful. "It doesn't concern you! S-stay away from me!"

"But I…fine." What's the point? If Marik doesn't want to talk nothing I say will convince him otherwise. Besides, as upset as he is it would be best not to provoke him. A repeat of the previous night is the last thing I want right now. Instead, I go back to my own room, leaving him secluded to his darkly maddened thoughts.

Not even bothering to strip, I collapse, exhausted, into the welcoming softness of my mattress. Almost immediately I feel myself drifting into sleep. As exhaustion threatens to overtake me, my thoughts become more obtuse, taking on the vague, nonsensical quality found only at the edge of wakefulness and dreaming. It is because of this that, when I see Mariku silhouetted in the doorway, I am not sure if he is really there at all.

However, the creaking of springs assures me this is no illusion. This is not some drowsy-minded fancy. Marik is here beside me, and I am once again brutally awake.

As is now custom between us, I do not speak. I simply lie there, pretending not to notice his eyes boring into the back of my neck. For the thousandth time I find myself wondering why he is here. Why does Mariku insist on haunting me? What does he want? Over and over he has come to me at night, his beautiful, unreachable body mocking the lust I've worked so hard to restrain. I don't understand. It can't merely be because he's attracted to me. I mean…that could be part of it, but compared to Bakura I'm actually rather plain. So what is it? Is he bored? Does he like toying with me? Maybe Marik just wants to see how far he can push me before I too go crazy.

"What do you want from me?"

My words are too soft to echo. I can barely hear them myself. Still, they must be audible enough for the blonde to understand, for, after a moment of maddening hesitation, he places his hand lightly on the small of my back.

This gesture says more than any speech ever could. The second those tentative fingers touch my skin, I _know_. I know with a sense of utter relief and compassion exactly what Marik wants, and, to my infinite satisfaction, I know too that it is something I can give him.

"Mariku…"

Heeding his tacit request, I pull the spirit against me. He doesn't resist. On the contrary, he moans as I drag myself on top of him and begins to lap playfully at my neck.

"Please…" In the safety of darkness Marik whispers things that I would have never thought him capable of. "Please, Touzouko…d-don't…don't…"

"Don't what?"

…_leave me…_

He doesn't speak. He can't. What the blonde longs to say, what I long to hear…it can't be verbalized. At least not yet. Not now. Marik's heart isn't ready for it.

"Shh…you shouldn't worry so much." I kiss him deeply, hoping to get my point across. "I'm not like Bakura. I won't…"

With a funny, little groan, Mariku bites down hard against my collar bone. I can sense it like a fever, the violence that ravages his soul, tainting everything. Love, passion, joy…all things fall prey to it. I remember clearly the rough sex we had in the shower. That's not what I want this time. In fact, I desire the opposite. I'm going to give Marik what he's always wanted, what Bakura could never provide. A pleasure without pain. An emotion that isn't tainted with what he loathes most about himself.

Grasping his jaw, I pull the blonde into another kiss. I continue to hold his head still as my lips travel along his throat. I go slowly, enjoying how his astonished gasp causes the skin I am kissing to quiver slightly. Where normally he would be urging me to be less gentle, Marik seems strangely responsive to the softness of my touch. I suck heavily on the junction of his neck, releasing his jaw so I can use my hands to explore his body. Allowing my fingers to trace the bony contours of his hips, I slip a leg between his thighs.

Mariku throws his head back and moans. His eyes are wide with confusion and lust, and I can't help gaping at how beautifully their cool lilac color clashes with the tawny gold of his mane-like hair. There is still a shadow of sadism in his gaze, but it is finally beginning to fade. He seems to want this as much as I do.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, the blonde begins unbuttoning my shirt. He smirks and spends a long moment staring at my chest.

"…god, you're hot…"

"Huh?" I blink. Did he just…

Without a trace of the smile once written on his face, Marik starts working on my jeans. A flush that has as much to do with his words as with the rough fabric around my erection suddenly being loosened sweeps across my face. I'll never get used to it. The blonde's alarming beauty and backwards sense of etiquette will always get me. He is as shockingly alluring now as he's ever been.

I don't allow Marik to remain sitting for long. The second our clothes are off I ease him back onto the mattress. To my astonishment, he allows this, though not without a slight hint of confusion. However, his uncertainty melts away as I slide my hands beneath the small of his back. Lifting his hips to my face, I nip at the blonde's inner thigh.

"How you doin', baby?"

Marik replies with a sound somewhere between a growl and a muffled moan. He bucks his hips, and, taking this as a good sign, I slide a hand between his legs and begin to stroke him.

"Uhhh…" Eyes slipping shut, the blonde rocks hopefully into my hand. I continue to pleasure him, loving the strange, guttural mewls that issue from his throat. He seems almost nymph-like. The delicate arching of his neck. The way the room's shadows paint his graceful torso an inky blue. Even Marik's erratic breathing gives rise to thoughts of some otherworldly rapture.

As I am thinking this, my free hand dips lower. He winces a bit as I begin to stretch him, but not much. Marik has no fear of pain. Besides, he's too distracted. He's concentrating so hard on what I'm doing to his erection that, when I pull away, the blonde looks extremely put out.

"Touzouko, wha…"

"Shh…" Pulling Mariku into my lap, I guide my arousal to his entrance. "Be patient. It'll only take a second."

The instant I ease into him I know this will be like no time before. Marik's demeanor changes almost immediately. A silent gasp ghosts past his lips, and I am forced in even deeper as he pulls himself tight against my chest. We are so close that I can even feel his heartbeat. Fast and irregular, its palpitations could belong to no one else.

"You okay?"

The blonde's actions are words enough. Wrapping his legs around my waist, Marik buries his head into the crook of my neck and moans. I give several tentative thrusts. He's shivering, shivering so badly I can hardly bear it. Am I hurting him? No. That isn't it. The other times we've had sex were much more violent, and he certainly had no problem with it then. Still, I must be doing something wrong. Why else would he be acting like this?

"Mariku…"

He meets my gaze from beneath a shock of golden bangs. He does not speak, but I am immediately alarmed by the degree of disquiet in his amethyst pupils.

"Marik, what is it?"

For a moment he says nothing. Lips trembling too badly to form words, the spirit merely stares at me helplessly. Then, with what appears to be a tremendous amount of difficulty, he manages to speak.

"I-I…I don't…shit…Touzouko, what's _wrong_ with me?"

Of all the unpredictable responses I was expecting, this is definitely not one of them. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with him! Hell, what _isn't_ wrong with him? He's violent. He's cruel. He's depressed. He's insane. He's hateful. He's sad. He's all of these things, but that's why I love him. That's why Bakura loves him. The fact that something so tarnished, so completely ruined, can manage to retain such awe inspiringly beauty is an enigma of this world that we would all love to unravel.

Of course I can't tell Marik any of this. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't believe me. Instead, I must reassure him in other ways. Easing him backwards onto the blankets, I nibble playfully at his lower lip.

"Shh…you think to hard."

He opens his mouth to retort, but I stifle it with my tongue. The deeper the kiss becomes the more aware I am of the untended burning between my legs. I'm sick of talking. Instead I concentrate on pleasing the body beneath me. I set a slow but deep rhythm, one that Marik seems find at once enjoyable and unfamiliar. He expresses this through murmured exclamations, spoken quietly in Egyptian.

It's strange, but something about this ancient tongue, this tongue that has belonged to our homeland for generations, awakens in me a sort of indefinable sadness. That was my home. That was my way of life, and as hard and unmerciful as things were back then, I do miss it. I miss it for the same reasons I am drawn to Marik and Bakura. They have taken the place of the cruel, terrible magnificence of my blowing sandstorms and cursed gold hidden deep beneath the earth. They are what make life hard, but they are also what make it worth living.

Through the pandemonium of bucking hips and sweat drenched bodies, Marik looks at me and smiles. It is a weak, flighty, quavering little thing, but it illuminates his entire face. He sees what I see, feels what I feel. Like me, he understands the pangs of loss and solitude. He comprehends the allure of the desert sands and of the deep, star-rich nights that stretch on into eternity. It is at this moment, this sublime moment of understanding, that I realize I have never seen Mariku look so happy.

* * *

Long after we have reached our completion I stay awake to watch the blonde sleeping. He looks relaxed for once…or at least as mentally stable as I've ever seen him. The tension has left his shoulders, and his face, usually distorted by some violent shift of emotion, remains blissfully tranquil.

Yet despite Marik's beauty, despite the fact that I was finally able to give him something fully untainted by hatred…despite these things, there is a hollowness in my stomach that will not leave me. The sensation only grows as the hours stretch onward. It is a sort of vacancy. Something…something that should fit there…just isn't.

And as I sit, running my hands through Marik's hair in the dark, I realize that this emptiness is nothing new. It has been with me since the beginning…as far back as I can remember. It's not so much an emptiness really as it is a disturbance. Like the Pharaoh's cursed puzzle, it is as if something needs to be put together…a riddle I have yet to comprehend.

But I am too tired to think of this right now. What I need is sleep. I need to release my weary mind to dreaming, to the forgetfulness that comes with true and peaceful slumber. I have forever to examine this aching, but now, beneath the bed sheets, in the presence of an enthralling creature neither human nor demonic, I don't want to think. All I want is…is to…

I grin despite myself. What is it that I want? That's the question Bakura twice has asked me, the question I twice have been unable to answer. Oh well. Another time, another day. Maybe tomorrow. I know eventually that I must give an answer, but for now I will lie down and sleep. Mariku shifts restlessly in my arms. He is unused to being held, but, after a few more tosses, he too falls silent. His hair smells nice, like sex and salt and cheap shampoo all mixed together. It cuts through my confusion, through my uncertainty and anxiousness and lust, and, wrapped in this strangely compelling scent, I am finally able to sleep.

* * *

**-TOT** (Sorry I took so long. I've recently been swept into the madness of Harry Potter and have spent the majority of my free time rereading the series so that I can fully appreciate the nuance and cleverness of J.K. Rowling's final installment. I mean, wow. She is so good. Anyway, thank you for the lovely reviews. They are very helpful, not to mention encouraging.) 


	5. Seraph

**Chapter 5-Seraph**

* * *

_Running. I've never run so hard in my entire life. My legs are on fire, my joints cracking from exhaustion. Even my lungs, filled with grit from the ever-blowing desert winds, rasp feverishly. Yet, despite all this, I'm gaining surprisingly little ground. It's almost as if my legs are too short to scramble efficiently over the rough terrain. Trying to pull myself over a small outcropping of rock, I find that my arms aren't strong enough. I feel smaller, more fragile. As if…as if I were a child._

_All around me…screaming, fire, blood. Blood that crackles. Blood that stinks with the aroma of dark and fearful magic. I never knew…I never knew that they could burn…that human bodies made such effective tinder. I must escape! I've got to, but I don't know where to go. A shadowed pall is closing over me. It's sucking me in, clogging my soul. The hollow sense of grief leaves my body, and the tears brought on by my family's death are replaced by those of blinding rage._

_And just like that all sorrow is gone. The images are still there. The burning hut. My sister's brutalized body. The vacancy of my mother's once warm eyes…but the heaviness in my chest, the horrible, brutish agony of knowing I'm alive when they are not, is gone. Instead, I feel a vengeful sort of malice. My pain is being transformed into something useful. The anger courses through my veins, breathes life into my aching limbs, and I have never felt more alive._

_Still, there is a part of me…a part of me hidden deep enough perhaps to have escaped the face of death…that knows this is wrong. This joy I am feeling, this horrible, ugly, but comforting rage, is not natural. It was not meant to be. Another force is at work here, and, though I see now that it is sinister, I cannot escape. It's taking over. Already I can feel a mirthless laugh that is not my own welling in my throat. The Shadow is descending. It blocks out everything. The cliffs, the earth, my tormented village, even the brightness of the stars. I can't feel anything now. No, that's not true. I can feel only what the Shadow lets me feel. Only what it deems fit._

_Like water over a broken levee, despair reaches out to flood my soul. My emotions, my thoughts, even my memories, are no longer my own. I am falling, falling forever, lost in darkness…but suddenly there is a flash. A light is piercing the abyss. The great Shadow is being beaten away, and a brilliant, powerful, searing brightness replaces it. The first thing I see is the cobra. Glittering pale as moonstone, the guardian of the Pharaohs rears up and strikes out against the blackness. Then a head appears…shoulders, wings. A face, stoic but kind, gazes down at me and, for the time being, my soul is safe. Diabound's sacrifice, the sacrifice that caused him to mutate so wretchedly as I, or should I say, we, gathered the Sennen Items, will protect me._

_But just as I am beginning to breathe easy, the scene once more begins to shift. I am no longer in Kuru Eruna. No. I am in the modern world, staring out at a lonely expanse of highway. There is a hill to my left, an on my right a cliff drops off abruptly into a gray and choppy ocean._

"_Amane?"_

_I turn in surprise. Ryou is standing in front of me, hair and clothes dripping though there is no rain. A little blood is spattered on his cheek._

"_Amane, is that you?" _

_Amane? _Amane?_ "DO I LOOK LIKE A LITTLE GIRL TO YOU?!"_

_But my hikari doesn't seem to hear me. Sinking to his knees, he bursts into tears. "I knew…I knew you wouldn't die on me! Didn't I? Quick! Tell me! Where's Mom? We can still save her!"_

"_Ryou, your mother's dead."_

_But he's having none of it. Instead, the boy's insistence that I am his deceased sister increases in volume until, putting my hands to my ears and screwing my eyes shut, I fear it will drive me mad. Then, his exclamations fade, and once more I am transported elsewhere._

_I am on a tower. The wind is cold up here, and I am surrounded on all sides by more ocean. Taking a closer look, I realize that I am standing in the middle of some sort of fancy dueling arena. Ryou is gone. There is no one up here but myself, but in the distance a figure approaches. _

_It is a great bird, its wingspan perhaps a hundred feet or more. Bright, purple eyes stare down upon me, and its plumage shimmers a fierce, fiery gold._

_A phoenix._

_No. Not a phoenix. The phoenix._

_And, as Ra's messenger sends a piercing cry hurtling into the air, another beast is flying low across the water. It is like the first in size and general shape, but it has no feathers. Instead, the new bird's body is covered in flame. It screams out its reply to the first bird, and they rise to meet each other._

_I don't know which is more magnificent, the golden icon of the sun or the great blazing shadow who seeks to destroy it. Circling each other in the sky, they are too beautiful and terrible for words. It's bizarre. They are both similar, both powerful, both majestic, both frightening…yet they are also very different. It's not just that one has feathers while the other soars on wings of fire. No, the differences go deeper. The golden bird is regal, full of life, a little deceitful, very sad. It reminds me of someone, someone whom I cannot quite place a finger on. Then there is the other one. Its demeanor is untamed, dark, spitting with defiance and deep regret. This bird, too, seems familiar. _

_With a great cry of bloodlust, the flaming phoenix lunges at his plumaged companion. They meet in the air above me, palpable talons clashing with fire that has somehow managed to hold onto a tangible form. Their battle is fierce, yet…yet I do not believe they truly hate each other. Rather, it is fear that pits them against one another. Fear of darkness versus fear of light. Fear that as long as the other is living they will always be tied to a most unwelcome fate._

_As I am thinking this the tower disappears from beneath me, and suddenly I am falling. It happens so fast I don't even have time to scream. Then I am on a bridge. I've been here before. It is the new section of road that spans Domino Harbor. I've driven over it several times, but I never realized how long it is. The bridge seems to go forever, taking on an endlessness found only at the furthest edges of reality. _

_Staring out at the expanse of infinite pavement, I am overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of dread. At the most distant reaches of my vision I fancy I see a figure in the gathering gloom. Someone's out there. I must get to them before…before what?"_

_No time to wonder. No time for anything but the chase. I'm running again, but this time I'm bigger, faster. No longer a child, the asphalt seems to fly out beneath my feet. _

_But I'm not getting any closer. If anything, the figure is moving farther and farther away. I don't understand. I'm running as fast as I can! I'm full out sprinting…but it doesn't matter. _

_Too late. I can no longer glimpse even the faintest outline of the person in the middle of the bridge. Whoever it is was has disappeared as abruptly as they came, and I am left alone with the wind and the faint stirring of the ocean, miles below… _

* * *

I wake with a start, that bizarre cloak of fear still dominating my emotions. The darkness of morning's early hours seems to be jumping at me, claiming the room and everything inside it as its own. This thought in mind, an incoherent yell forms and dies in the base of my throat.

Only when I see Marik lying beside me does my mind begin to calm itself. Oblivious to my nightmare, he slumbers peacefully. The night's presence serves only to accentuate his beauty. It hollows out his cheeks and jaw line, staining their contours a bruised sort of indigo. I could stare at him forever. I could…

Scenes from the last part of my dream flood my thoughts, and I jump to my feet. Understanding hits me with a force that is crippling. I move so fast that it seems mere seconds before I am in the car and backing out into the deserted street. I drive fast, yet, as it seemed in my dream, I feel that my speed is futilely inept. Ignoring all traffic signals and stoplights, I pick up the pace.

As I speed along, I attempt to recount the other aspects of my dream. It started out simply enough. A nightmare. The worst memory of my childhood replaying in my head…but things get murkier after that. I remember hearing what sounded like the cry of a hawk, seeing Ryou's face, the crash of waves against a distant coast. They come in flashes, unbidden and out of order. The only thing I'm sure of is Domino Bridge. Everything I am searching for depends on it.

Said structure looms just a hundred yards ahead. It seems to rise from the night's blackness, the prow of some otherworldly ship. I slow to a stop and get out of the car. Walking out onto the bridge, I attempt to identify a discernable shape in the gathering gloom. Nothing yet. I start making my way across.

Until now I had not realized how freezing it really is. Snow spits from the sky, each flake bitingly cold against my skin. It clings to my jacket, my hair, sparkling icily. Visibility is still low, but I imagine I can sense rather than see a presence up ahead. It's a terrible feeling. Not fear or hate this time, but sadness. Sadness as deep as any I have ever known. Sadness as hopeless as Marik's…and perhaps more desperate. Unconsciously mimicking my dream, I break into a run.

The bridge isn't never-ending this time. The figure at its center does not move farther away. This is real…brutally, inescapably real, and I am more fearful now than ever before. I can see him now, hunched shoulders quivering. He stands at the bridge's railing, gazing down into leagues of black, swirling water.

"Bakura?"

Said spirit doesn't acknowledge me. The sounds of the ocean must have drowned out my words. I try again.

"Bakura…"

He gives a start but does not look up. Instead, Bakura tightens his grip on the railing and begins to climb. Buffeted by the wind, his hair and clothing fly backwards, yet the spirit continues to mount the rungs until he stands precariously on the top of the railing.

"What are you…" The words die in my throat. No. He wouldn't.

For the first time I notice how far the drop is. A hundred feet at least. And the water is so rough. The undertow must be very strong. Then I notice Bakura's tee-shirt. It's the dead of winter and extremely cold.

"Bakura, get down from there."

"Why, Touzouko?" His voice, strangely enough, is completely calm. "You've always wanted to be free of me."

My stomach tightens. "That's not what I meant."

"No." Bakura smiles at me. "I imagine not. You're too noble to wish me dead, aren't you?"

Noble? _I'm_ noble? I suppose I should take this as a compliment, but coming from Bakura it seems more like a sign of the Apocalypse. This is the closest he's come to giving me a flattering remark in about three thousand years. Too bad it's at a time like this.

"Why do you want to die?" This isn't what I meant to say. It just sort of slips out.

Bakura's gaze is directed towards the frigid surf lurching beneath him, but his gaze is miles away. "The book's gone you know. Just like Ryou said."

"It doesn't matter." I try to keep my voice level. "What would you use it for, anyway?"

The spirit smirks sardonically. "Use it for? Hell, isn't it obvious?" He pauses long enough for me to shake my head. "I was going to use it to thrust the world into darkness! To resurrect the Dark One and force all of humanity to bow down before him! Really Touzouko, I thought you knew me."

I smile. "Naturally, Bakura. Naturally."

The smile fades from his lips. "No, I just wanted it because…fuck…I thought it would…"

I thought the fact that he was joking was a good sign, but it seems I was wrong. Bakura looks more miserable than ever. All I can do is distract him, keep asking questions.

"You thought it would what?"

The spirit shakes his head. "I don't…you see…the spells in that book form the basis for all Shadow Magic. The key to controlling it in its ancient and purest form is…was…recorded in those pages."

Despite myself, despite the fact that Bakura is about to throw himself off a bridge, I am ashamed to say that my gaze suddenly goes very hard. There is a part of me that cannot forget, that cannot forgive, that is trapped forever in the blood-soaked streets of Kuru Eruna. It is from this distorted sliver of my soul that my next words come.

"Is that what you want? Is that what you want more than _anything_ in the world? Power, Bakura? Domination? You disgust me."

I regret saying this the instant the words leave my mouth. Of course that's not what he wants. One look into his anguished face and anyone with half a brain could understand that. The spirit looks absolutely stricken, as if it is taking everything he has just to continue breathing. He totters at the edge of empty space.

"Wait! Bakura, that's not what I…"

He's falling. Not jumping. Bakura does not jump. He simply leans forward, past the point where balance can correct him. His gaze is directed towards the sky. The sky, whose churning heights of dark clouds and spitting snow mirror the tempest that consumes his heart and mind. He isn't crying this time. Sometimes tears just aren't enough.

But I won't let him die. I refuse to. I cannot say for certain that Bakura deserves life. He is not a good person and has done nothing particularly honorable. Still, who is to decide what manner of people are or are not allowed to exist in this world? All I know is that I cannot bear seeing him fall to his death. I would not be able to forgive myself. Nor, I believe, would Mariku.

I don't know how I did it. How I managed to sprint the twenty feet separating us and grasp the back of his shirt before he descended beyond my reach. It couldn't have been more than three seconds, three seconds of thoughtless action. So impossible. How did I manage to save Bakura before he plummeted into oblivion? No one's reflexes are that quick.

For a moment we stay frozen like this, the spirit's eyes wide with astonishment, my body teetering on the edge of the railing. Then I come to my senses and haul him back onto the bridge. I lose my balance, and he topples on top of me. We lay like this for a moment, wet and shivering.

"Idiot." He glares at me halfheartedly through hooded eyes. "What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you do that?"

"You expected me to let you throw yourself off a bridge?"

"I expected you to be at home with Mariku sleeping!" Bakura pulls himself off my chest and into a sitting position. "Things would have been easier. You know that."

I shrug. "That doesn't mean I don't want you around." I remember having similar thoughts about Marik.

"I don't get you." The spirit blinks harshly and shakes his head. "I'm serious. You should hate me!"

"But I choose not to."

"W-what?!"

"It's simple. I choose not to hate you. Therefore I don't hate you and do not wish for you to die." I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Come on, Bakura. We've been together for centuries. What would I do without you?"

Though he still looks unhappy, Bakura almost smiles. "After we returned I spent a long time searching for what I wanted…only to discover that the one thing I truly desired could never be had."

"How do you know that? Tell me, what is it that you want more than anything else?"

This time he really does smile. "It's a bit complicated."

"That's okay." I stand and help him to his feet. "I can handle complication. Nothing to worry about."

To my surprise, Bakura allows me to put my arm around him and steer him towards the car. We are quiet as we make are way across the bridge. The spirit's body is shivering beneath his thin clothing, and I draw him closer.

"Touzouko…"

"Hmm?" We stop just outside the beam of the Chevy's headlights. "What is it?"

For a moment Bakura does nothing. He simply stands there, looking eerily glamorous in the glare of the car's brights. Then he sets a cold palm against my cheek and pulls me into a kiss. It is warm and soft, so unlike the rest of him. It is as if I am kissing Bakura, truly kissing him, for the first time. He tries pull away, but I refuse to let go. I hold him in place, reveling in the warm and pleasantly bitter taste of his lips.

"Why?" he whispers. "Why can't Marik give me what he gives to you?"

My reply is equally as quiet. "He wants to. He really does…but you've got to ask."

Bakura nods. It's as if he has known this all along and not until this moment been brave enough to accept it. "And you?" He looks at me, and the question in his gaze rocks me to the very core. "What do I have to do…to make _you_ give me what you give Mariku?"

I open my mouth to speak, only to find my voice overcome with what feels suspiciously like a sob. My throat constricts. My heart may as well have stopped beating. All I can see is Bakura. Beautiful, malevolent, incomprehensible Bakura. The man who I have hated with all my heart, who I have loved despite my hate. The man who at once drives me mad and is impossible to live without. I don't know whether he can see my tears. Hidden in the darkness as we are, the spirit may assume the glassiness of my eyes is due to the reflection of the stars, but it doesn't matter. Finally, he's asked a question I can answer.

"What do you have to do, Bakura? Just that." I bury my face in his unkempt hair. "That's all I needed."

* * *

I knew Marik would be awake when we returned, but I still can't help being startled. I expected a fit of rage, screaming, throwing things, _anything_…but not this. Not silence. It is not a normal quiet. It is neither calm nor relaxed. Taut is the only word I can think of to describe it. The tension in the air is unbelievable. I clear my throat.

"Marik?"

The blonde is sitting on the couch. He is like the room around him. Still, still but for Circe licking her paws on his lap. Bakura and I stand in the doorway. We do not move. It is as if Mariku's gaze keeps us frozen to the spot. I say his name again, already knowing it's no use. He completely ignores me. All his attention is focused on Bakura.

"Why are you shivering?"

The paler yami tries and fails to sound affronted. "Maybe because it's the dead of fucking winter!"

"Coat?"

"Who do you think you are, Ryou?"

Marik stands suddenly, sending Circe tumbling from his lap. His lips are pressed tightly together. His bronzed skin possesses an undertone that is distinctly chalky. As he steps forward, I find guilt gnawing at the lining of my stomach.

"Listen, Marik. I shouldn't have left in the middle of the night like that. I was going to tell you, but there wasn't much ti…"

The blonde holds up a hand for silence, and something about the gesture is so commanding I can't help but comply. "Bakura," he hisses through gritted teeth, "who the hell do you think…why did you…" All semblance of authority is gone. Now Marik seems young and insecure, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry."

"You…you _what?_"

I can see the paler yami's adam's apple bobbing as he forces a dry swallow. "I said I'm sorry, Ishtar. I…damn it! I'm trying to apologize!"

"Apologize?" Marik's voice quakes with barely suppressed emotion. "_Apologize!_ That's all you can say after you…after…"

A hurt expression flickers briefly across Bakura's face. "I was angry. I wasn't thinking clearly! I…I never meant to try and rape you, Marik."

"Rape me? Shit! That hardly matters now!" The blonde grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him close until they are nose to nose. "Stop avoiding the subject!"

"Subject? Marik, what…"

All of a sudden it hits me. He knows. Somehow Marik knows what Bakura tried to do. Maybe it's the torn shirt, the scent of salt in his hair. Maybe he had a nightmare like I did. Maybe…maybe he can simply see it in his lover's eyes. Whatever the reason, Marik knows Bakura tried to take his own life, and that fact has torn down every barrier last night's mishap was able to create.

My confused thoughts are brought to sudden halt as the blonde promptly punches Bakura in the face. The blow has enough force to send him straight into the wall. For once I make no move to stop him. Marik isn't really mad. Just frightened. Approaching Bakura, he cocks his fist for another blow. However, it never happens. The stress is too much. A nervous twitch wracks his body, and Marik collapses, hyperventilating, against his boyfriend's chest.

"What…what the hell…were you thinking…you fucking idiot…damn it…what was I supposed to do…if you…if you…"

No longer possessing enough self control to speak coherently, the blonde breaks off and pulls Bakura into a deep and very sloppy kiss. He doesn't stop at that. Between bouts of erratic breathing and Egyptian curse words, he continues assaulting the white-haired yami with his lips. Cheeks, neck, collarbones, nothing is left untouched.

"Uh…" For once in his life Bakura is at a complete loss at what for words. He stands frozen, accepting Marik's attentions with an air of profoundest shock. Finally, after a full minute of bewilderment, he pulls the blonde into a tentative hug.

"I won't…not again."

I should really go. It's not right for me to stand here, watching the two hardest people I've ever met bare their souls like it's some kind of cheap sit com. I begin making my way down the hall. They need to be alone. I'll only get in the way.

"And just where the _hell_ do you think you're going?!" Marik is staring at me accusingly. His expression, surprisingly enough, reminds me of Ishizu when she is angry.

"I didn't think you'd want to be interrupted."

"Interrupted?" The blonde lets out a sound that is neither bark nor laugh but is unquestionably psychotic. "You. Come here. Now."

"I…"

"_Now!"_

Mariku's expression leaves no room for argument. I make my way back down the hall. Exchanging confused looks with Bakura, I pause about five feet away. "What is it?"

The blonde reaches out, fingers barely brushing the material of my shirt. His eyes are fathomless, unreadable. Who knows what kinds of nonsense and crazy ideas lie beneath them? I inch still closer, drawn by the warmth of his hand just inches from my grasp. Marik fists my shirt in his hand, pulling me closer until we are just inches apart.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're the crazy one, Touzouko. Looking out for monsters like us."

The words sink in slowly. Like a freshly lit fire, their meaning permeates. Then I see the sincerity, not in his dispassionate voice, but in the intensity of Mariku's eyes. I try to shake my head, try to shrug off these words that are almost complimentary, but I never get the chance. Marik cuts me off with a kiss.

"Not crazy, then?" he whispers into my mouth. "Fine then, _asim_ _malak._ Does that make you our guardian angel?"

"What? No!"

The blonde laughs, his breath ghosting tantalizingly across my throat. "Good. I don't much like that title either." Then we are kissing. Marik's tongue leaps down my throat, and somehow I find myself up against a wall. I bend easily to the crushing dominance of his embrace, gasping as his teeth nip roughly at my lower lip. I recognize it for what it is. Each bite, each moan, each well-placed hand, is a gesture of his gratitude, the best thank you Marik can give.

Detaching myself briefly for oxygen, I finally notice Bakura. He's standing a little ways away. Hands on hips, a slow smirk creeping across his face, he gives me a wink.

"Don't pull away too quick, Touzouko. Let Marik have another go!"

I grunt, and said blonde turns to glare nefariously at his lover. "Fucking pervert! Get your ass over here!"

Smug look now firmly stamped upon his features, the spirit allows himself to be dragged into Marik's fiercely protective embrace. He seems cocky enough, but up close I can tell that he's exhausted. Mariku must have noticed this too, for he begins leading Bakura back towards the bedroom. I follow behind, wondering if this night has all been some kind of morbid dream.

What on earth would possess Bakura to commit suicide? Was his loneliness really that crippling? It's beyond my comprehension. Of all the people I have met, Bakura seems the least likely to need friends. Even Marik, in his own way, can be violently dependant on others. No, I would have never thought Bakura capable of truly loving the blonde or…or me, for that matter. Now there is an even more terrifying thought. Bakura _loving_ someone.

"Touzouko?"

Marik is standing in the doorway to his bedroom. One hand rests on the doorknob, the other holds up a dozing Bakura. He, too, looks tired.

"Are you coming?"

I smile. Such sweet words, made ugly by a wretched voice and deadpan expression, but living with the two yamis has taught me something. Sometimes that which is ugly should still be treasured. It takes practice, but you've got to see the truer meaning. Even if it hides beneath an unsightly mask.

"Yes, Marik. Just a minute."

* * *

**-TOT**

(I hope you liked it. I indulged a bit too much in OOCness, but other than that I'm pretty happy with chapter five. In case any of you are wondering, the term _asim malak _means 'protector angel' in Arabic. However, the translation is very, VERY rough and probably completely inaccurate. Anyway…thank you so much to those who take the time to review. As always, I will treasure your comments and try to update ASAP.)


	6. Absolution

**Chapter 6-Absolution**

* * *

"Hey, you learned how to work the coffee maker."

Mariku peers out at me from behind a veil of delicious smelling steam. "No, I walked to the café to get some before you woke up."

"Oh." Smirking, I take one of the Styrofoam cups and blow on it. Marik looks like a wreck. Emotionally drained from the previous night's events, he goes about feeding Circe with bags under his eyes.

"Is Bakura still asleep?"

I nod. "Yeah. It's almost 1:30. Should I wake him up?"

"Why bother?" The blonde shrugs. "Might as well let him sleep. You know how crabby he gets."

"Yeah."

We sit at the kitchen table in silence, enjoying the comfortable lethargy that comes with sleeping until early afternoon. Circe rubs against my leg, and I stroke her back, dimly aware that this is the first time she's ever actually allowed me to touch her. Marik fiddles absently with one of the gold bands on his fingers. Every so often he glances toward the bedroom where Bakura's still sleeping, but he does not rise.

"He won't try it again." The blonde's eyes bore into mine, silently urging me to further affirm his statement. "He can't. I won't allow it."

"Don't worry." Seeing how much longer I can tempt fate, I pick up Circe and let her settle on my lap. "Bakura isn't stupid enough to make the same mistake twice."

"_Excuse _me, but what was that about me being stupid?"

Bakura leans against the doorway, smirk masked by the haze of smoke coming from his cigarette. Taking another drag, he enters the kitchen and retrieves the final cup of coffee. Cigarette in one hand, espresso in the other, he leans against the counter.

"This tastes like shit."

"Maybe you shouldn't smoke while you drink it."

"No, it's definitely the coffee."

"Whatever you say…"

The silence that follows is not necessarily awkward. Rather, it simply feels as if many words have been left unsaid. Sitting together in this small apartment kitchen, one can feel the full weight of unspoken conversation settling above his head. I can't help thinking of something Bakura said the previous night.

"Bakura?"

My question pierces the room's quiet, and the pale-haired spirit looks up.

"Hmm?"

"That…that book's really gone, then?"

Marik looks confused, and Bakura gives me a funny look. "It is. I told you before, all those spells were destroyed."

"I see." I am gripped by a miniscule sense of let down. It's as if a part of me, a very small part of me, is actually disappointed. Why? What would I possibly want with that chronicle of ancient magic? I attempt to ignore this feeling by asking another question. "What did you want it for…really?"

Bakura opens his mouth to reply, then closes it moments later. He looks bemused. Struggling for words, he lets slip a satirical, almost self-deprecating chuckle.

"Just curious, I guess. That book held the rules that dictate how Shadow Magic works. These formulas govern the process that created the Sennen Items…that created Marik and myself."

Something clicks in my head, and suddenly I get it. Bakura didn't want the book for power. He may have once, but the time when the spirit was truly evil lies far back in the annals of history. His reasons for seeking the Book of Dark Alchemy weren't wicked at all. In fact, they were rather sentimental. Bakura wished to do what humans have wished to do for ages. He was trying to understand the history of his nature, and therefore to understand himself.

A powerful knowledge passes through us as Bakura's gaze connects with mine. We are aware of each other as never before. The years of domination, of fear, of darkness and vengeance and desperation and love. Our tangled pasts have led us here, to this point in time when our souls are so entwined that we don't even want to escape. In this moment we accept who we are, who we were, and who we must become for this whole fiasco to actually work out.

Marik watches from the sidelines, a bemused expression on his face as we continue to stare into each other's eyes. He has no way of guessing what has truly passed between us. He simply knows that a great step has been taken, one he can never be a part of…and I think he's okay with it. For all his faults, Mariku understands some things remarkably well. This was between Bakura and me, something we had to sort through on our own.

Our moment of sublime realization is cut short by the telephone. It rings, puncturing the mood of our apartment as effectively as an out of control house fire.

Bakura flinches as it rings again. "Goddamn phone! Who the hell would call us anyway?"

"Dunno. I'll get it." Hoping it's just a telemarketer, I answer the phone. "Hello?"

"_Touzouko?"_

"Hey, Ry. What's up?"

"_N-not much."_ The teen pauses. _"Umm…do you think you could come down here? I…I need a hand with Malik."_

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

Now the hikari sounds really upset. _"He…Ishizu called earlier. I couldn't hear what he said. He'd locked himself in his room. Then he came out. He was crying, and…and…"_

"And what?"

"_And he won't tell me anything! When I asked what was wrong he just cried louder and told me to go away!"_

This statement is somewhat startling. Malik may have pitched some impressive tantrums in his time, but he is not one to cry. Ever. It would be the equivalent of Kaiba professing his undying love for Jounochi. Completely and utterly unfeasible.

"Hold on, Ryou. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Hanging up the phone, I go to throw on some clothes. However, I am immediately stopped by the two curious yamis.

"What the hell's eating Ryou?"

"It's Malik, isn't it?"

I stare from one spirit to another. Bakura looks intrigued, even nosy. Mariku, though, is somewhat more guarded. His expression is not so much inquisitive as it is tense. I suppose he does have certain sixth sense about his hikari.

"They just had a fight or something. I'll be back in about an hour."

These words serve only to further their curiosity. "We'll come with you."

I pause, mind frozen by something unfamiliar and fierce kindling in Marik's gaze. I didn't get the impression that Ryou wanted them to come, but then again he never said they couldn't either. I bite my lip.

"…okay, fine. Get in the car."

* * *

"I-I'm glad you came."

If Ryou is surprised by Marik and Bakura's presence, he doesn't show it. Instead, the hikari beckons us into the living room. He looks worried.

"You guys can sit down if you like. I have to check on something in the kitchen."

I sit on the couch across from Bakura. _'Where's Malik?'_ he mouths.

That is the question, isn't it? Where the hell _is_ Malik? In the backyard? Hiding upstairs? Maybe Ryou knows.

As if he has read my mind, said boy reenters the room. His gaze finds me almost immediately. "Malik left about ten minutes before you got here. He said he was going to take a ride."

"On his motorcycle?"

"Yeah." Ryou looks more nervous than ever. "You don't think…with the state he's worked himself into…that Malik could, you know…crash?"

Mariku shakes his head. "Doubtful. He's a good rider. Too good for that."

The hikari gives a strained-looking nod. It's clear that he needs more than the words of a madman to reassure him. Striding abruptly across the room, he begins wiping imaginary dust from the coffee table.

"Don't worry, Ry. He'll be fine."

The boy looks at me and tries desperately to smile. "I-I know. It's just…I've never seen him so upset! He was crying. It was as if something absolutely horrible had happened!"

For the first time, Bakura speaks. "You said this all started after a phone call with Ishizu, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well then, they obviously had a fight."

"No." Ryou shakes his head. "I didn't hear any yelling. Besides, I don't think something as stupid as sibling rivalry would affect Malik like that."

"No," Marik murmurs, almost to himself. "It wouldn't."

"Well then what the _hell_ would it be?" Bakura's eyes swivel from Marik back to Ryou with more intensity than is absolutely necessary. "Why would he be acting like such a fucking…"

The spirit is interrupted by a chilly gust of air, brought in as the door is swung violently open. Malik stands on the front steps. His hair is windblown, kohl suspiciously smudged beneath his eyes.

"What are _they_ doing here?"

Ryou gapes like a fish. "They…they…uh…"

Eyes alarmingly steely, the tanner hikari sneers at our puzzled expressions. "What the hell are you staring at? Get out of here!"

Bakura's lip begins to curl, and I am struck with a slight sense of dread. I shouldn't have brought them. The last thing we need right now is a fight. Already the paler spirit is pissed off, and, glancing over at Marik…

Strangely enough, the blonde doesn't look that mad. If anything, he appears nervous. His eyes dart feverishly from his hikari to Bakura, and his hands fidget uncomfortably. Ryou, too, seems to have noticed this, for he gives Marik a pitying look before turning to his fellow light.

"Please don't be mad, Malik. It's just…you seemed so distressed. I called Touzouko because I didn't know what to do!"

"Touzouko isn't the problem, _Ryou_." Malik's voice is lower, nastier than I've ever heard it. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and directs his glare towards Marik. "Him! Why is he here?"

"Just wait one fucking minute!" Bakura is on his feet in seconds, practically bristling with rage. Even Malik, angry though he is, seems taken aback by 3000 years' cold fury. "What the hell does your yami have to do with this?"

"I…I…" For a moment the teen is at a loss for words. Choking on ill-suppressed tears, his attentions are suddenly redirected towards Ryou. "How can you…" He gestures wildly in Bakura's direction. "I don't understand. Why would you be stupid enough to…to _forgive_ him?"

Ryou is also on the verge of tears. "Malik…oh god…Malik, please…"

"TELL ME! Tell me why! They don't deserve it, Ryou. You know they don't!"

"That's not…"

Ryou throws me a look, begging silently for assistance. But what am I supposed to do? This isn't about me. This isn't even about him and Bakura. It's about…shit. I don't even know anymore. Glancing to my left, I notice that Marik hasn't moved an inch since Malik returned. He's sitting ramrod straight, hands clenched, expression carefully apathetic. I know that emotionless face. I know it all too well.

"Tell me why, Ryou! Why should we have to? Because we're good people? Maybe I don't want to be a good person!"

"No, Malik! Please!"

Ryou grabs him by the arm, but the tanner hikari simply shakes him off. He moves past us until he stands in front of Mariku, crying and quivering with rage.

"Why?" Malik's voice is an acrid hiss. "Why are _you_ alive when…when…"

I'm at a loss for words. Things seemed fine before. They were accepting each other, getting along even. I thought Malik had really decided to put the past behind him. What, then, could have caused such a change of heart?

"I can't believe it. I mean, you're _evil_. You bastard! You're fucking evil!"

Shocked into silence, we stare on mutely as Malik continues to scream at his yami. Horrible words, vile words. Not all of them untrue, but that doesn't lessen the clenching of my stomach.

"You're crazy! Insane! Every time I look at you, it's like… How could I have created something so hideous? You disgust me!"

Through all of this, Mariku remains completely impassive. He stares straight ahead, past Malik at something he alone can see. Even when his hikari grabs him and pulls him to his feet he doesn't shake that dispassionate demeanor. I remember the trance the blonde fell into after that earlier fight with Bakura. That was more terrifying than any of the crazy shit he's ever pulled.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?"

Malik hits him, fist smashing into that hard, unforgiving abdomen with bruising force. For a second Marik looks as if he's about to crumple, but at the last minute he pulls himself together. I actually see it happen. I watch as, with the skill of a great sculptor, he reconstructs the pieces, resurrecting a mask of indifference.

"…please, Malik…" Ryou's voice is diminished to the palest whisper. "…let him go…"

"That's what I mean!" Malik snarls, giving Mariku a good shake. "You're always talking about how we should be_ nice_ to them! But _why?_ Why should we? Why should they be allowed such a pleasant life when Rishid…"

"What's happened to Rishid?" This is the first time Marik has spoken during his hikari's outburst. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"THAT'S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!"

Malik goes to punch him again, only to have his fist collide with another, smaller frame that has leapt in the way. Ryou gasps in pain as the blow catches him below the ribs. I jump to my feet to intervene, and even Bakura gives an agitated twitch, but what happens next freezes us completely.

Though still clutching at his aching stomach, Ryou straightens and looks straight into Malik's tear-sodden eyes. "Let him go, Malik. If…if you love me, let Marik go and listen to what I'm trying to say."

Shocked by what he has done, the blond-haired teen complies. His hands fall limp, leaving Marik standing uncomfortably in the background. All eyes are on Ryou now. Little Ryou, with his soft eyes, his slim shoulders, his trembling, sensuous lips. There is something so commanding about him now as he faces his lover. A sort of humble dignity that neither Bakura nor myself could ever master. The hikari clears his throat.

"You said they didn't deserve it, Malik, and maybe you're right." He indicates towards Mariku and Bakura. "Maybe they didn't, but what they deserve doesn't matter. That's not…that's not why I did it."

"Why then?" Malik shakes his head. "Ryou, I don't understand."

"It was my choice. I chose to let go of my hatred not just for them, but for me as well. I didn't want my anger to fester, to…to twist me. I did what I had to in order to be my own person, in order to control my life."

"Choice?" Malik trembles. "You just _chose_ to forgive them?"

Ryou smiles. His words have reminded me eerily of my own. "Yes. I did. Forgiveness is for the forgiver, Malik. I refused to let hatred control me, and for that I gained more than even the deepest grudge could have granted. I-I understand so many things better now! Mercy, anger, _love_. It all makes sense!"

"But I don't understand! How can you just…"

"Just trust in me. Please?"

No one speaks for a long time after this. We remain completely stationary, each lost in his own thoughts. I think I am beginning to understand what Ryou has been saying. He's right. Absolutely one-hundred percent correct. What I saw vaguely in my mind's eye the previous night is brought violently into focus. All along I have longed for control, the ability to dominate every obstacle and person in my life.

And sure, control is important, but I've been going about obtaining it the wrong way. I've always thought of it as an outside force, something to be used upon others. However, I was mistaken. Control isn't about ruling others. Rather, it is about ruling oneself. To control your own emotions, your own heart, to choose a path and be able to walk it no matter what stands in your way. That is what Ryou means when he talks about forgiveness.

This has certainly given us all something to think about, but even clouded by the light of my self-discovery, I can see that Ryou's treatment of the yamis is not the actual reason Malik is crying. I gaze piercingly at the boy.

"What happened, Malik? What was that phone call really about?"

The light's breath catches in his throat, and he looks for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Everyone is watching him now. Bakura, from where he sits uncomfortably at the edge of the couch. Ryou, still giddy from his outburst. Even Marik has brought down his mask long enough to stare tensely at his hikari.

"Well?" the paler spirit snaps impatiently. "What the hell happened?"

"Bakura!" Both Ryou and myself give him a dirty look, but Malik doesn't seem to have noticed. He simply stands frozen in the center of the room, a sculpture of profoundest grief.

"Malik."

There is no derision in Marik's voice as he speaks his hikari's name. No command or mockery or any form of love. He is not understanding, nor is he cruel. Marik simply is. He lacks what it takes to be a good person, but is still too complex to be labeled 'evil'. There's more to him than what you see, yet at times he is remarkably hard to hold on to. This is the paradox that is Mariku. It is how his words can sound so lifeless and at the same time retain such influence and depth.

Perhaps Malik has known this all along but, until now, been unable to face it. It is neither easy nor pleasant, analyzing the thought process of a twisted likeness of yourself. However, that's not what's happening now. For the first time it seems that Marik's morbid strangeness, his macabre desolation and impassive gaze, have actually been beneficial. Malik seems to draw strength from his yami's cold demeanor.

The teen clears his throat. "He's dead."

"Dead?"

"Rishid." Though his lower lip is trembling, Malik's voice remains admirably steady. "He caught malaria at one of the new dig sights and…" Here, he finally breaks. "…and…and…"

"Shh. It'll be okay." Tears glistening in his own eyes, Ryou pulls his lover into a snug embrace. "I-I don't know…you must feel horrible…but I promise…I promise it'll be okay!"

Immediately feeling awkward, Bakura and I exit into the kitchen, away from the two hikaris locked in a weepy hug. Mariku hesitates, still not losing that stony expression, before he too backs out of the room. The second he is in the kitchen, however, the blonde immediately seems to crumple. He collapses in a chair, laying his head on the table in defeat. He mumbles something to himself in Arabic and lets out a nervous sort of half laugh that betrays how unnerved he truly is.

"…never thought I'd actually outlive him…the bastard."

I take a moment to think carefully over Marik's words. Could it be that he actually feels remorse for Rishid's death? No. He didn't give a shit about that man. Bottom line. End of story. Marik isn't a saint. How can he feel sorry for someone he didn't even like? Rather, I believe it is the absence of Rishid's _presence_ more than his physical self that has the spirit so disconcerted.

When you stop to think about it, the power that humble man once held over him is absolutely staggering. Before he received his own body, everything about Mariku's life, his strength, his state of being, his very existence, depended on Rishid's loyalty to Malik. Without that loyalty, the blonde would have been free to cause havoc as he wished…but I wonder.

If Rishid hadn't been a part of his hikari's life, would Marik have been born at all? If Malik hadn't seen the contrast between his servant's love and his father's cult-like obsession…would his soul still have been torn in two? Maybe that's what scares Mariku more than anything. The idea that without Rishid, loathed though he was, the spirit would still be a thoughtless bit of darkness in the back of a young boy's mind.

"They'd better finish up out there soon. I don't plan on spending the remainder of my afternoon stuck in here with you two,"

I roll my eyes. "Shit, Bakura. Try not to be so _sensitive_."

Eyes still trained in the direction of the weeping hikaris, the paler yami lets out on of his short, barking laughs. "Only if _you _quit being so sincere, Touzouko. Your lack of sarcasm is _killing_ me!"

This manages to coax a snort of amusement from Marik, who, though he's still a bit shaky, looks considerably less perturbed. Without thinking, I allow my hand to drop down, lightly massaging the back of his neck. He stiffens for a moment, then allows his eyes to droop shut. I continue the motion. I've always been amazed and slightly appalled by the amount of tension constricting Marik's body. Still, as I work at the knots of his upper back, the blonde's harshness seems to give just a little.

It's been nearly twenty minutes, and we can still hear sobs and muffled voices coming from the other room. Bakura shifts uncomfortably. He is unused to such displays of emotion and resents both the hikaris and himself for being affected by it. Seeking to put some distance between myself and the crabby spirit, I release Mariku's neck and make my way through a side door into the study.

The study, Mr. Bakura's seldom-used office, is a lonely space. It's dimly lit, dusty, full of old books and the smell of mildewed paper. There's something of a crypt-like quality to this place. Musty and dark. Untouched, as if it were sacred.

True to my tombrobber instincts, I begin poking around. I peer in old drawers, riffle through papers long turned yellow with neglect. Even the dried up fern next to the stapler does not escape my interest.

Forgetting all about the two spirits in the kitchen, I make my way to the bookcase. These volumes capture my attention as nothing has so far. Limited though my reading skills are, I can decipher some of the hieroglyphs and even the equally confusing Japanese markings on the spines and framed bits of parchment that line the shelves. Still, I am embarrassingly lacking in literacy. Perhaps I should go get Marik. He is educated in both ancient and modern texts.

Something glittering catches my eye. It comes from the gilt spine of a book, tucked in the corner at the top of the bookcase. Its gaudiness is not the only thing out of place in Mr. Bakura's collection. This book, unlike the others, has no dust on it. Its glossy leather binding shines almost as brightly as the gold trim. Impulsively, I remove it from its perch next to a couple of outdated encyclopedias.

My body jerks, every muscle tightening in one spastic motion. I try to scream, try clutch my chest or rip out my hair, but I am frozen. All I can do is gaze in horrible, mind-numbing horror at the book's cover. An eye, a golden eye set in a mahogany hide canvas, the edges of which are blackened…burnt. My hands shake as I open the cover. No pages. They've been seared out, crumbled away in the heat of some divine, merciful flame.

But the image will not leave my mind. It replays over and over again, each time more brutally clear than the last. I see it in the dust suspended in the mute light of the Bakura study, in the charred interior of this book, the soot stains that paint its skeleton a mottled black.

The raping of my village, of my innocence, of my ability to see beauty that is in no way tainted. Only now am I able to scream. Faces from the past. My family, the Pharaoh, Zorc. I see Mariku's blank expression as he chants, the hurt in his eyes when I cannot bear to hear him laugh. Then I see Bakura. I see his tears, the grim resignation as he stands at the precipice, ready to throw himself into a cold and salty oblivion.

Finally I see myself. Utterly alone. Uncertain. Weak and helpless as I've always been. I flounder like a child in my memories, in my inexplicable devotion to two creatures who will never be capable of fully returning my love. I am pathetic, beyond pathetic. Even my past delights in toying with me.

These are my last thoughts as the Dark Book's remnants fall from my hands. The world has lost its color. It's spinning, black and white, and I long for something, any hue at all, to latch on to…to hold me together. Then everything fades, and for a moment I am glad. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I see neither dark nor light. I am in a dimension where such reciprocals do not subsist. Control, love, regret…I think I see now why Marik found lack of existence so appealing.

* * *

**-TOT** (Don't worry. That wasn't the end. I'm planning on at least one more chapter. This story is considerably shorter than my other chapter fics, but I don't really feel the need to stretch it out. I wrote this for characterization more so than plot, and I think what I'm trying to do would be lost if I tried to make it longer. Besides, I've got too many ideas for new stories. Thank you for the billionth time for the wonderful reviews. You guys are the reason I keep writing. If only I could express to you how much you truly rock.) 


	7. Revelation

**Chapter 7-Revelation**

* * *

I waken to a room full of daylight, to the sound of voices and the pattering of feet. I don't open my eyes immediately. Rather, I allow the day's glow to seep in beneath my lids, wrapping me in a radiant warmth.

"Is he awake yet?"

"I don't think so. He still seems pretty out of it."

"Oh _really!_ You think?!"

"Shut up, Bakura! It's not as if any of this is Ryou's fault!"

"Don't fucking start with me, Malik! I've had about enough of your…"

"Shut up, Bakura."

Marik's command seems to silence all of them. The noise of the room settles, and I keep my eyes shut, unwilling to break the peaceful quiet. The only sound comes from Mariku's erratic breathing and the muffled thump of Bakura's feet pacing back and forth across the carpet. Slowly, the events of what happened earlier return to me. What Bakura said was true. The spells of the Dark Book are no more. However, the binding remains, a malignant husk hidden away by Ryou in a place so obvious he thought no one would ever find it.

The dark thoughts begin flooding back. The terror…pure, wretched, mindless terror, and something sicker as well. I can't explain it. This feeling is sinking into me, saturating my soul, yet…yet it is not dangerous. I sense no power in this sensation. Rather, it is simply the vestige of power, the last bit of unpleasantness still clinging to the aura of that useless book. Despite this, I am admittedly frightened.

Ryou's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Hey, he's moving!"

"…about time…"

I feel a sweaty palm touch my own, and the mattress shifts as a new weight settles upon it. Trying for one last time to shake my disturbance, I open my eyes. Cool, violet ones stare back at me. Marik's lips are held every bit as taut as they were when I brought Bakura back from the bridge. His hand tightens compulsively around my wrist. I shift to get a better look at him, becoming slightly dizzy as my vision blurs. The blonde realizes.how tightly he's been holding my arm, and lets go with a self-reproving hiss.

From the foot of the bed I hear the paler spirit snort. It is not a derisive sound.

"You're up." Ryou offers me a shaky smile.

"And you look like shit." Bakura's smirk is less cute, though not necessarily less sincere. Besides, he's right. Passing a hand through my sweaty hair, I realize I must look absolutely awful.

In fact, no one is looking their best. Bakura is uncommonly pale, Ryou and Malik have been crying so long their eyes are about to swell shut, and Mariku, true to his usual, twitchy self, looks as if he's about to go into some kind of seizure. Guilt leeches into me, quite as unpleasant as the aura of that book. Have I caused this? I can't believe it. I should be embarrassed, creating all this fuss over something so harmless.

But it wasn't harmless, and a part of me knows that. Memories are powerful, horrible things. They can undermine us slowly or rise up as the Pharaoh's did, awash with fire and brilliance. I think of those very memories, etched so permanently on Mariku's back, and a dreadful, almost giddy shudder wracks my body.

"Are you all right?"

Meeting Malik's gaze, I nod and try to sit up. It is a feeble attempt. Almost immediately my vision begins to blur. The bedroom melts away, and for the briefest instant I see my Diabound, overwhelmed and twisted by Zorc's glaring darkness. Then it is gone, and I find myself falling back onto the bed sheets. _Zorc can't hurt you,_ I remind myself. _Nothing can hurt you now but fear itself._ I feel a hand on my shoulder and tremble as Ryou helps me up. This time I stay sitting.

"How long was I out?"

Malik peers down at his watch. "Eight hours. It's almost midnight."

"Eight?" I'm mortified. It's really been that long, then? Have they been up the entire time? It would explain why Marik and Bakura appear so exhausted. Also, it means they were worried, worried for my safety. I stare into their faces. They are brimming with stoicism and contempt, but there is something there, something hidden. That secret goodness I have come to cherish. When Mariku smiled, when Bakura allowed his tears to fall…I saw it their and was held, awestruck.

"We'll leave you alone for awhile." Ryou sees it in my face, in all our faces. "Malik and I will be downstairs. Call for us if you need anything." Then he whisks his lover away, and I am left alone with the two spirits. Bakura is the first to speak.

"You idiot. You're too fucking nosy for your own good."

"Hypocrite." I can't help but snicker. "You were the one seeking it out. I merely stumbled upon it."

The paler yami straightens to his full height. "Oh, so it's _my_ fault now, is it? My curiosity is the reason you fucked up?"

"That doesn't even make sense, dumbass. What I'm trying to say is that you're too nosy for your own good!"

For an instant the rage on Bakura's face is terrifying and absolute. His nose crinkles, and his eyes shrink to nefarious slits. I feel my own blood rising. My hands clench. I can feel my temples pulsing. Then, at the climactic pinnacle of our emotion, we burst out laughing.

"You stupid shit!" Bakura slaps me roughly over the head and continues chuckling. "Goddamn thief! Couldn't keep your hands off it, could you?"

I can feel my own grin, desperately happy, threatening to take over my face. "Couldn't help it! The fucking gold…you know? The fucking gold on the cover!"

And we are howling again. Clinging to each other, we laugh until tears shimmer on our lashes, until we're not even sure what was so damned hilarious in the first place. I feel drunk, high on fear and high on life. When our giggles finally do subside I turn, still hiccoughing, to Mariku.

The blonde gives me a look that could shatter glass. He is not amused, not in the slightest. The look on his face is one of fear and anger so deep they border agony. I realize for the first time how much I have actually frightened him.

"Hey?" I give him a light shake. "You alright?"

"I'm fine…are you ready to go now?" He stares at us with blank, fathomless eyes.

"Um…yeah. Hold on a sec." Swinging to the side of the bed, I test my legs before allowing them to carry my full weight. They seem stable enough. I get to my feet. Marik is still angry. He's no longer looking at us. Instead, the blonde glares off into space, face aloof, even contemptuous. Bakura frowns and looks as if he would say something to the younger spirit, but for once he holds his tongue. After exchanging hasty goodbyes with the hikari, we make our way outside. I become less disoriented as I walk. By the time we reach the car my balance is as sound as ever.

The car ride back is quiet. Marik drives, I stare out the backseat window, and Bakura drums his fingers distractedly on the dash. I pass the time attempting to calculate just how much of my life has been spent enduring awkward silences. Really, these situations seem almost as ridiculous as they are unpleasant.

The second we enter the apartment, Mariku disappears into the bathroom. He gives no explanation…simply slips away, the lock clicking in place behind him. I follow Bakura out to his usual brooding spot on the balcony. No one speaks for a moment. We merely stand there, staring off into a sea of stars mirrored by the city lights below. Then he turns to me.

"Tell me, what did you see when you held it?"

"When I held the book's binding?"

"Well, _obviously._"

"What I saw…" I swallow hard before continuing. "I saw fear, the fear that was in my heart. That is all."

As if he has not heard me, Bakura turns his gaze back towards the city that surrounds us. He breathes deeply, taking in the frosty air as if it might somehow bring strength to his already frosty soul.

I continue. "You touched it to, then? The remnant of the Dark Book."

"…yes…" Finally, he turns to me. "I touched it. I was as curious as you…but then, you already knew that."

So that's it then. The night Bakura tried to take his life. He had already discovered the book's location. However…

"What did you see?"

The spirit flinches, and for a moment I see that cold, sneering facade about to take over his face. Then it falls. He has no reason to guard against me now. Even if he did not tell me, I will have guessed.

"I saw what you saw." Bakura shakes his head, once more turning away from me into the night. "Fear…stupid really. It's powerless, but…"

"But dangerous." I crack my knuckles and glance back at the interior of our apartment. That's why Mariku is like this. He was afraid for me, and in his fear he turned to anger. It's a common denominator, something all creatures capable of feelings are subjected to.

I do not know what Bakura saw when he touched the book, what was so terrible that he was driven to take his own life. Perhaps he saw the horror of the things he has done. The hatred of those he has maimed, killed, wrecked beyond all sense of repair. For it is true that Bakura has committed evil acts, but it is equally true that we have forgiven him for them. However, the reason doesn't make any difference. All that matters is that this fear, this atrocious force that unites all three of us, can be overcome. That we are strong enough to defeat it, strong enough to live unafraid together in this strange and alien world. That is where the true strength of our bond is founded.

The wail of a siren echoes in the distance, and I am shaken from my revelry. Turning from me, Bakura disappears back into the apartment. He's going to Marik. I should too, but I'm not ready yet. I need a few more moments to myself, a chance to clear my head before going back to untangling the vast maze of our existence. Not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't trade my life for anything now.

As I enter the bedroom, my ears are filled with the hushed whispers of the spirits. They are laying together, two ghosts haunting the bed sheets. Marik still looks a bit put out. He has not yet forgiven me for scaring him, but I sense something else in his derisive glare. Desire, sharp and pungent, lurks beneath his quiet anger. I can almost smell it…earthy, rich and secretive, the scent of smoldering wood and something almost bitter. I wet my chaffed lips, readying myself to speak, but the blonde beats me to it.

"I don't want to know, Touzouko. Just…just come here, alright?"

I sigh, secretly relieved. It is clear by the strain in his voice that Mariku no more wants to hear my tale than I want to tell it. And I am glad for this. He has known enough of darkness, enough of hatred and pain and limitless regret. Why should I add to it? That wouldn't be fair to either of us. Instead, I find myself walking towards the bed. I groan as his arms wrap around me, as he buries his still angry face into my chest and pulls his body flush against my own. His skin is warm. No, not warm. Marik's skin is hot, hot like desert wind is hot, feverish not with sickness, but with some deeper intensity that he alone can feel.

I glance at Bakura out of the corner of my eye. He's sitting a little bit apart, a deceptively sharp grin spread teasingly across his features. Marik, too, has noticed this, for he disentangles himself from me long enough to pull the paler spirit into a kiss. Their kiss deepens, and I find myself crushed between them. The scent of their arousal overwhelms me. The heat, the sweat, the soft groans as they explore each other's mouths. It becomes an enveloping mist, surrounding me so completely that I lose control of my body and fall back against Bakura's chest. He smirks at this and lets loose a low, rumbling chuckle.

"My, aren't we _needy_ tonight, Touzouko."

"Fuck off." I'm not as bothered as I should be. Rather, I gasp as the spirit pulls away from Marik to drag his hot tongue along the nape of my neck. He nibbles lightly at the protrusion of my spine, and I can feel him smirking against my skin as I fail to stifle a moan. Mariku in turn must see my parted lips as a blatant invitation, for he wastes no time in assaulting them with his own. I almost choke as he explores the deepest corners of my mouth. The blonde is rough in his passion. His kiss is violent, and his hands grip my chin and hair with a force that is bruising.

"If you ever do something like that again..." Marik grazes his teeth along my throat, and, despite myself, I feel an ugly twinge of fear. "…I swear I'll fucking kill you."

He's not serious. I know he's not serious, but the concentration of devotion in Marik's gaze is as frightening as it erotic. It teeters on the edges of obsession, a love so strong it borders stifling. I kiss him desperately, aware that the strength of my human love pales in comparison to his…grown twisted and poignant, alone for too long in the recesses of darkness.

From behind, Bakura begins to slide his hands beneath my shirt. I gasp as his cold palms explore my chest before moving lower to tease the waistband of my pants. I haven't allowed him to touch me like this since the night of our anniversary, and even then it was I who took control. However, right now I am content to allow him power. Perhaps it is foolish of me to trust a creature such as Yami Bakura. Two weeks ago I wouldn't have dreamed of it, but things have changed a great deal since last night on the bridge. We are still the same people. I will not deceive myself otherwise. However, we have gained a sort of…a sort of awareness of each other. An understanding. I see Bakura and Marik clearly now, and, though it is at times unnerving, they see me clearly as well.

"Mmm…quit thinking so much, Touzouko."

Pulling himself onto my lap, Marik grinds roughly against my jeans. His exhalation whistles past my cheek. There is no discernable smell to his breath, merely a heady, almost desperate hotness. I smirk, and Bakura begins to unbuckle my pants from behind. The blond-haired spirit is right. Now is not the time to be thinking.

Not even fully out of our clothes, and already my mind is numb with lust. I tangle my hand in his messy hair and pull Bakura over my shoulder into a sloppy kiss. His skin is cool, cool to compliment Marik's heat. His touch is like a breath of chilly air. Cold, it causes me to shiver, but there is something invigoratingly sweet about it as well. If Mariku is fire, then he is ice, and they clash perfectly. I allow Bakura to explore my mouth with his tongue, all the while aware of the other spirit, who has taken to further loosening my pants. I grunt and settle him more securely on my lap.

"Careful." I pull away from the paler spirit and nip sharply at Marik's bottom lip.

The blonde laughs softly, sending those familiar shudders coursing up and down my spine. If I'm not careful I'll fall into that laugh. A wretched beauty that torments me just beyond the edge of comprehension. It will haunt me till my dying day.

As the night progresses, everything becomes a blur. The events swim hazily through my consciousness, mixing themselves always with sensations and thoughts almost vivid enough to be touched. Wet fingers in my mouth. A devilish smirk. Pleas of lust so fervent they seem to me a sustained and wrenching sob.

One moment I am conscious of Bakura pressing in eagerly behind me. A second later it is Marik, the scars on his back creating patterns beneath my fingertips. My awareness shifts violently between them. Bakura's throat smells of soap and cheap cologne. Marik looks different in the filtered moonlight, almost feminine actually. Tomorrow I will recall things more clearly. I will remember how I finally let Bakura take me, how it didn't hurt so much when I saw the gratitude mingling with the lust trapped in the mahogany chambers of his gaze. Then I'll see Mariku's silhouette, standing out darkly against the uncommon brightness of a winter's night, trembling as he forces himself down on me with a twisted, almost apologetic smile.

In a brief moment of trepidation, I wonder how all of this has managed to work out. I mean, the story's pretty implausible. Boy possessed after destruction of village, thrown 3000 years into the future locked in a gold ring, given own body by same book that destroyed family, shacks up with former possessor and renegade mental disorder, madness ensues. It's not the kind of plot most authors would look for, but why change it? I've turned out happy, haven't I? Look at them, Mariku and Bakura. They're beautiful, crazy perhaps, but still beautiful…and despite how hard life with them can be I am grateful. Grateful for their unnerving beauty, for being permitted to bask in it, simple and mortal though I am.

A hitch in Bakura's breathing tells me that he is about to come. Three more times, the abrupt cut off of respiration. His body jerks, and I am aware of something warm and sticky filling me. This sensation sets off some hidden trigger inside my own body. I see white. All the blood occupying my veins seems to be flowing downward, concentrating. I release in a flash of carnal brilliance. The pleasure comes in waves, ripple after ripple, overwhelming, drowning me. When it is over, I pull out of Marik and curl up between him and Bakura on the bed sheets. Also spent, the blonde offers me a groggy kiss.

"Sweet dreams, Touzouko." Even on the edge of slumber, Mariku's eyes are disquieting in their brightness, vivid and unnatural beneath his kohl-blackened lashes. I run my fingers through his hair until those lashes fall, until his face relaxes and all I am aware of are his soft tresses and Bakura's cheek pressing gently against my back.

"He seems better, right?"

"Huh?" Peeking over my shoulder towards the slumbering blonde, said spirit gives a short bob of his head. "He's fine. Well…as fine as he'll ever be. Don't stress over it."

"Yeah, okay." Closing my eyes, I allow Bakura's hand to wander lazily over my chest. His lithe fingers send shivers through my skin. Teasing…I almost snort as he allows his nails to tickle across my ribs before digging deeper for a more raking, violent dance. I can feel the welts, maybe a little blood, rising in irritated ridges across my flesh.

"Marik's right, you know." The spirit's lips brush my shoulder as he speaks. "You think too much. You always have. Even as a child."

"Yeah?" I roll over so that I am nestled squarely on his chest. "You think so? Well one of us has to, right?"

Despite himself, Bakura lets out a snorting burst of laughter. I suppose it is humorous when you put it into context. How can I, uneducated and malleable as I am, possibly claim to be more intelligent than a creature like Yami Bakura. Scheming, subtle Bakura, clever and cruel and manipulative in ways only his former puppets can fully appreciate…but then, he doesn't look as if he's making fun of me. If anything…

"Maybe you're right, Touzouko. Maybe that's the real reason we keep you around."

"Huh?"

The spirit chuckles darkly and bats the bangs from my eyes. "I mean that you take care of all the perspective bullshit."

This time I am the one who can't keep from laughing. "Perspective bullshit? What the hell are you talking about?"

Bakura shrugs. "You see the things we can't. I mean…fuck. How do I say this? When I look at a situation or when Ishtar over here does, we look at it in only one way. It's not really a conscious thing. It's merely difficult for people…people like us…to observe things from all angles."

For a long moment I lay in silence, trying desperately to comprehend what Bakura is trying to tell me. Angles? Perspective? One of the only times the spirit's being fully open with me, and I'm too stupid to know what the _fuck_ he means!

As if sensing my confusion, Bakura continues. "Because of this we have trouble…I don't know…_recognizing_ how different situations can cause different people to feel…differently."

"But what the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Damnit! Are you really that fucking thick?" The spirit throws me a bristling glare, but there is no real malice behind it. "That's exactly what you do best! You can read people, not their intentions necessarily, but their…their…"

"Emotions?"

"_Yes!_ Exactly!"

"…oh…" I've never really thought about it before. I mean, I'm no more sensitive about others' feelings than most people, certainly nowhere near as empathetic as Ryou. Still, I suppose it makes sense. If I were incapable of seeing past the callousness of their actions, Mariku and Bakura's cruelty would make them impossible to live with. I wouldn't be able to take it, knowing only the nastiest aspects of their nature.

The paler spirit reaches up to touch my face. His thoughts are similar to my own. "You see now, Touzouko? Without you we wouldn't be tied to the reality of human thought. If we didn't know at least someone normal could bear us…we'd go back…back to how we were before."

"I…"

I don't know what to say. Since when does Bakura get it into his head to tell me that I'm some kind of fucking saint? That I'm responsible for his ability to go about life in a fashion of pseudo-normalcy? It's not just out of character. It's a blatantly gross exaggeration, but thankfully he doesn't seem to need any form of reply. Explaining these things to me appears to have taken up the remainder of Bakura's strength. He's falling asleep now, and I am left alone to ponder the sincerity of his words.

It's puzzling to me that, after 3000 years together, the spirit has just now decided to appreciate me. Why such a change of heart? I cannot know for certain, but perhaps it has something to do with Mariku. Some of the blonde's muddled expressiveness, his inability to keep emotion in check, seems to have worn off on both of us. Because of it we are more volatile, more apt to lose our tempers and gravitate towards thoughtlessness and conflict, but because of it we are also freer. Because of it Bakura is not afraid to at times drop his cold, analytical demeanor, and because of it I no longer find shame in the acts of human passion, rage, and lust.

And maybe that is Marik's truest wisdom. Of the three of us he is considered the most crazy, the most inhuman and generically deranged, but is he really that monstrous? Isn't emotion what defines us as human? The ability to feel, to hate, to love...in theory, is what distinguishes us from lesser beings. If this is true, then Marik is the most human of all. He feels without reserve, without the presence of mind to block the things that hurt him as so many are apt to do. He represents the quintessential ideals of humanity. To express without restraint the inner workings of one's mind.

And yet he is branded a monster. They _both _are. They are seen as evil. Why? Because they are violent. Because they lack manners and tact. Because they find solace in cruelty and can kindle hatreds that span millennia. In a word they are ugly. They harbor aspects of human nature that we are unable to come to terms with. Therefore we label them as wrong, as insane, so that we may distance ourselves from the darkness that lurks inside every one of us. That the human race is great is undeniable. That brutality goes hand in hand with greatness is often ignored. It is the fear and aversion of this truth that surrounds Marik and Bakura.

Yet as terrible as they are, these spirits are not evil. They are capable of kindness along with atrocity. They understand such abstractions as beauty and loneliness and can express in their own way the deepest denotations of love. So rather than be repelled by such creatures, we should find in them hope. Hope because if those as far gone as Marik and Bakura have the capacity for decency, then so must the rest of us. Despite the truth of man's iniquity, the reality of human goodness remains inherent.

"…hey…"

Turning my head, I am surprised to find the blonde gazing at me through heavily lidded eyes. He smirks at my astonishment.

You look pretty when you're reflecting on things, Touzouko, but you should try to get some sleep. The sun's already coming up."

I glance towards the window and gasp. Mariku's right. Just now light is beginning to filter through the curtains. "I…I must have lost track of time."

The blonde doesn't reply, simply stares at me with a thoughtful, lopsided smile gracing his face. How can he know that all I've been thinking about is him, him and Bakura and the love I feel for both of them that has only just begun to make itself known? No, Marik doesn't know any of this, but maybe that's for the best. He wouldn't be interested in my thoughts on the nature of humanity or how he and Bakura epitomize it. Sure, he'd listen if I told him, but only because of his twisted resolve to make me happy. What the world thinks of him does not concern Marik. It is the opinion of those closest to him alone that the spirit truly cares about.

"Come out on the balcony with me. I want to see the sunrise."

The request is out of my mouth before I can help myself. It is stupid, childish even, but Mariku merely gives me a curious look before scooting to the edge of the bed.

"Alright, sure."

* * *

It's cold outside, cold yet desperately beautiful. At this hour Domino City appears cleaner, bleached to an ethereal brightness by the pale morning sunlight spilling over the rim of the world. The sky itself is almost white. The only stars visible are at its very pinnacle, where the twilight lingers, a sweep of fading indigo. It's impossible to say if Mariku is as affected by this loveliness as I am. I believe he is trying to be affected, but whether or not he is able to grasp such natural transcendence as that of a winter's morning I cannot say. Still, I am happy that he is here with me, happy that I am not the only one awake to experience such a cold but elegant perfection. 

"You're going to call Ryou today, right? Make sure they're…okay…after last night?"

I smile at Marik's tentative, clumsily worded compassion. "Yes, I was actually thinking I would go pay them a visit. Want to come."

"Me? Hell no! I-I mean…no…no thank you." He drums his hands against the balcony railing and fidgets uncomfortably. "I'll stay here if…uh…if you…"

"Sure. No problem." I grab his hands between my own to stop their fiddling. Certain aspects of his psychosis are almost cute. "Hey, do you think Bakura's up yet?"

"What about me?"

Said spirit stands in the doorway, much like he did the last time I was out here admiring the scenery. The paleness of the morning does something to his already ghostly pallor. It's as if he were carved from marble…or maybe porcelain, a substance more delicate than stone. Still, Bakura is in no way doll-like. The trenchant force of his gaze betrays all thoughts of listlessness or lack of strength. His eyes flicker brightly, a rich auburn tainted with just enough red to be unnatural. However, they are still beautiful, still rich and filled with life and intelligence.

"Fucking Ra, it's cold out here!" Stepping out onto the terrace, Bakura rubs his palms against his upper arms. "What are you two idiots doing, anyway?"

Mariku shrugs and continues to gaze out into the morning stillness. The clouds have begun to spit crystals of snow, and the sun's weak rays catch in them, causing the air around us to glitter strangely. "Touzouko wanted to see the sunrise. That's all."

"Oh." Bakura scratches his nose and settles between myself and Marik at the edge of the balcony. Like the blonde he scrutinizes the early morning clarity, and, like the blonde, I am unsure if he is able to appreciate it as I do. Then he turns to me and grins. "You're a weird one, Touzouko. It makes me wonder why we like you so much."

I grin back, no longer worrying about whether or not the spirits understand my love of nature. That they are here with me, that is enough. That they care enough to let me bask in this loveliness when they cannot, that is more than I could ever ask or hope for.

I glance from Marik to Bakura, and suddenly the morning doesn't seem so marvelous. Sure it's beautiful out here, but there are many forms of beauty, and I know which ones I enjoy the best.

"You're right." I grab each spirit by the hand and begin ushering them inside. "It's too cold out here. We'll find something better to do."

And to my immediate pleasure they follow me, exchanging glances and shrugging in a way that seems oddly affectionate.

"Be patient, Touzouko! We're coming!"

"Shit! How does he have this much energy on zero hours of sleep?"

However, their words have no effect on me. Life is too good, and I have too much energy to complain. I simply throw back my head and laugh.

* * *

'_And of these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.'_

_-1 Cor 13:13_

* * *

**-UsuakariTOT** (Was the ending weak? I usually try to end my stories with something introspective, but since the whole story was basically one big character analysis I thought it would be better to wrap it up on a lighter note. Anyway, I really hope you liked it. I took a while to update because I was so busy, but things have slowed down, and hopefully my next story will move along a bit more quickly. Thank you to all those who have stuck with this story and reviewed. Your comments and criticism are the most useful tools I have with which to improve my work.) 


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